A Holt New Beginning
by RSteele82
Summary: (AU Series) Toss the Twilight Zone experience of Season 5 into the proverbial trash can. These stories pick up after Steele of Approval. Remington and Laura cross the line, creating what many fans would call the "Mr. & Mrs. Steele" feeling of Season 4. This installment of the series picks up immediately after the assassination attempt on the Earl's life.
1. Chapter 1: The Earl's Son

_**The Alternative Universe (AU) Series**_

 _ **Toss the Twilight Zone experience of Season 5 into the proverbial trash can. These stories pick up after Steele of Approval. While Bonds of Steele still exists, these stories look at Season 4 as most of the viewers saw it - Laura and Remington had crossed that line, imbuing that Season with the "Mr & Mrs Steele" feeling that most experienced. Way, way, way down the line, they will merge with the canon stories... because it is possible to do just that :)**_

 _ **For the best experience when reading my stories, they should be read in order as events from past stories, as well as Canon, will often be woven into future stories.**_

 _ **The order of the AU Series is as follows:**_

 _ **Steele Forsaken (Part 1 of 3 in the A Holt New Beginning Series)  
Steele Mending (Part 2 of 3 in the A Holt New Beginning Series)  
A Holt New Beginning (Part 3 of 3 in the A Holt New Beginning Series)**_

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Chapter 1: The Earl's Son

Laura sat in the passenger seat of the small rental car, shifting in her seat subtly, often, and fidgeting with her hands, her hair, frequently. Not for the first time, her lips parted to offer to drive, only for her to clamp them closed again, fervently wishing they were back in LA where it would be she, more likely than not, driving. She preferred to drive, during times like these. Her mind could wander, but not obsess, as she circumnavigated the familiar highways with ease, while her hands and feet were kept occupied. But, here, in the English countryside, sitting on the wrong side of the car, driving on the wrong side of the road? Even she could admit that as frazzled as her nerves were at the present, now would not be the time to test her skills. Hell, parts of her body still smarted from her tumble from the Ocelot dune buggy she'd swiped from the Earl when in pursuit of his serial killer, soon-to-be brother-in-law. So, she resigned herself to the fact that sit here and fidget she would.

She slanted her eyes to her right, taking in Remington. While his face would suggest he was perfectly placid, the occasional swipe of his chin, the tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel bespoke of his own discomfiture. She couldn't exactly blame him. After all, how often does one meet their father for the first time.

That passing thought only began her worrying anew. Would he want to return with her to LA? He was, after all, the son of an Earl… nobility. She guffawed to herself silently, as stunned by this turn as he. The man with no name, no home, no family, a member of the royal peerage. Would he wish to stay and take his rightful place among society, enjoying the perks that undoubtedly accompanied such standing? If he did return home with her, would he shed the mantle of Remington Steele, opting instead to lay full claim to his birth name?

For three years she'd been asking for a name, making her trust almost conditional on it, even after discovering he, himself, had no idea of what it was. For years, she'd hung different names on him during conversations on the matter: Harry ( _how ironic is that?_ she laughed to herself), Cyril, Charlie. She couldn't say when, in her mind, he'd simply become Remington Steele, but he had. Now, with his parentage established, she had to find a way to readjust that thinking. It was enough to make her turn her head to look out the window, a hand raising so fingers could work a brow.

She mentally shoved concerns about his name aside. _We'll cross that bridge when we come to it… if we come to it. We, our partnership, our relationship – if that even exists any longer – could very well come to an end, if he chooses to take his rightful place and remain in London._ As happy as she was for him that he'd finally found what he'd yearned a lifetime for, her heart ached at the thought it might bring about their final adieus. She shook that thought from her head as well.

They'd settled nothing between them last night, had not said a word about how he'd come to be in London, the way he'd left LA. It was an assumption, on her part, that he'd want to resume their relationship. Not their business relationship, although that would certainly be the icing on the cake, but their personal one. It was the loss of the latter that had left her adrift, heartbroken over the last months and what had led her here to England to find him and bring him home. Assuming, again, he was even interested in resuming their personal relationship. During the time they'd spent together in the flophouse, she'd been led to believe that he'd missed her, them, as much as she. But in light of the resumption of his physical relationship with Felicia, it seemed she may have put too much weight on the words, kisses and touches exchanged.

As it was, they'd returned to the hotel late in the evening, interviews with various police officials keeping them tied up most of the night, and after securing a room adjoining her own for him, awkward silence had followed, neither sure how to begin crossing the divide the last four months and the events that spurred them on had created. Taking the key from her hand, he'd opened her door, an act that he'd committed without thought in the three years of their association. Stepping into her room, she'd been compelled to spin back around, not wanting him to leave, but unable to find the gumption to have the conversation that was demanding to be had.

"8 o'clock?" she said instead, choosing the safe road out of habit.

"Mmmm, sounds about right," he agreed.

Then they had stood, silent, awkward, before her mercifully chose to end the evening for them.

"Well, uh, yes. Goodnight then." He leaned forward and bussed her quickly on the cheek, a touch of his hand against his cheek exhibited of his own discomfort.

"Goodnight," she returned quietly, unable to hide the disappointment that reverberated in her voice.

And now, here they were. No answers. Steeped in silence, neither sure what to say. She sighed, unknowingly, drawing a glance from him.

Laura was not the only one plagued by unanswered questions. Remington's thoughts had nearly echoed her own throughout the hour long drive through the English countryside. He doubted she would ever understand what it meant to him that she'd come six thousand miles to find him. The time they'd shared in the flophouse had gone a long way to filling the vacuous hole that had resided in his chest since she'd ended them back in LA. Her words, her touch, how she'd chosen of her own accord to sleep tucked into his side, the way it appeared she couldn't get close enough to him, each had made him believe that she'd not come for her flashy figurehead, but he'd been afraid to attribute anything of substantially more significance to it.

Then, when Felicia had him snatched from the streets and had thrust him into the role of 'the finest assassin in all of Europe,' he'd had not a single doubt his sudden disappearance would leave his Miss Holt seething, believing he'd played her for a fool. Never mind he'd had no desire to part from her lovely company, that he'd been devastated as he feared for her life after Armstrong's men had taken aim upon her fleeing form. She would only see the abandonment, he knew, because it was for that she was always waiting.

Would she even wish for him to come home with her now? And if so, in what capacity? Solely as the mythical Steele come to life, or as something more? Would the fact that he'd found his father, would be able to at last offer her name carry any weight? Truth be told, he was fairly certain his heart wouldn't be able to withstand returning to LA as purely her business associate. A repeat of those months after Cannes. It had been far too difficult the first go 'round, missing her, craving her touch, her taste, the nights spent dancing, laughing, simply being in one another's presence. And after the last four months without her? No, he wouldn't be able to endure it again. The very thought of that possibility had him lifting a thumb to worry the nail with his mouth.

 _First to get through this next bit, old sport,_ he reminded himself. _A father._ That idea alone was almost more than he could take in at the moment. More than three decades spent not knowing who he was, where he'd come from, and now, suddenly, a father. And with that father would come a new name. Only three short years ago, he'd assumed and shed names weekly, at times, daily. But only a few of the names he'd used had stood any passage of time - Mick, Michael, Paul, Harry – the names by which he was known to fellow ne'er-do-wells. Of all of them, Mick had come closest to feeling like his own, perhaps because of its tie to his homeland and even that name did not sit on his shoulders as though it truly belonged. Only one name ever had. The one he'd strove to earn the right to, the one tied to her. He exhaled heavily, then turned his attention to the estate at which they'd arrive, following the long drive until he pulled the car to a stop by the front stairs, cutting the engine. Opening and closing his hands a couple of times in order to quell their slight tremor, he reached out and patted her leg.

"Laura, we're here." She turned, blinking at him several times, coming back from wherever her mind had taken her. She gave him a nod, then opened her car door. Circling the car, she stood next to him, both considering the house in front of them. "Shall we then?" he asked holding out his hand towards the staircase. She took an imperceptible step back.

"No, you go on. This is your moment," she urged, forcing a smile. He looked at her and nodded, then taking a deep breath started towards the staircase. He hadn't made it a full four steps, before stilled then returned to her, his hand reaching for hers.

"Laura," he entreated quietly. She leveled her eyes on him, felt the cool, clammy texture of his hand, the slight tremor in it. But it was the stark fear she saw reflected in his eyes that left her nodding at him.

"Alright, we'll do it together," she told him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. His hand turned in hers to weave their fingers together. With a nod from Remington, they ascended the stairs together. She stared, briefly, at their joined hands, trying to recall if they'd ever held hands for no other purpose than connection.

He didn't let go of her hand until they'd been waiting more than ten minutes for their audience with the Earl. She was starting to feel dizzy as she watched him pace forward, spin, pace back towards her, spin, pace forward…

"Relax," she urged him. "Everything's going to be _just fine._ " She fervently wished her voice hadn't reflected her own nervousness, which of course didn't escape him as he looked at her askance.

"Laura, isn't every day you get to meet your father… I mean for the first time." His head yanked towards the study door in expectation as it opened, only to watch Daniel exit the room.

"Wonderful man, the Earl. His gratitude was boundless," Daniel enthused, a cat-ate-the-canary grin on his face.

"After all, you did save his life," Laura pointed out pragmatically.

"He's thinking of putting me in charge of security for the estate."

"Daniel…" Remington drew out his name in warning.

"Nothing definite. We're merely discussing it."

"Oh."

"Well, my boy, good luck." He shook Remington's hand enthusiastically. "I hope this brings you everything you've always wanted." He turned to Laura. "Linda, my dear, I'm afraid we shall have to postpone our luncheon." He bussed her on the cheek even as he continued to bait both of them. "I shall be extremely busy. Looking at alarm systems, laser beams, light sensors- you know- the stuff of- security-" he laughed, waving as he left the room. Remington half-heartedly returned the wave, his smile strained, before fading all together. Seeing his unease return, Laura moved to him.

"Well," she said on a sigh, as she smoothed imaginary wrinkles from his clothing. "Alright. Don't slouch."

Together then entered the study, Remington closing the door behind them. Laura stood back demurely yet anxiously watching the reunion of father and son. The Earl crossed the room to Remington as the two men took one another in.

"Hello," Remington greeted, almost shyly, stunning Laura. The two men embraced awkwardly, yet with their underlying emotions quite clear.

"You've no idea how many years I've waited for this," the Earl told Remington, his voice gruff with emotion.

"I- uh, I think I do. Ever since I was a child, I realized that I- uh, wasn't like other children. I mean, I had no parents, no real parents, no true home. I was always trying to imagine what my real father was like. Creating, recreating his image, you know, how he walked, how he talked. How he smiled." Laura's heart pounded in her chest at his words.

"I regret many things. But none more severely than losing you."

"There's time. There's much time," Remington assured him as Laura beamed. How like her Mr. Steele, to forgive so readily, to leave the past behind and only look to the here and now.

"Let me look at you. Firm jaw. Blue eyes." The Earl looked away, clearly disturbed. Laura's feet moved her forward a couple of steps of their own volition at his reaction.

"Your Lordship?" she inquired.

"What is it?" Remington's question followed not far behind.

"Your eyes."

"What about them?" Laura inquired.

"They're blue."

"Is that a problem?" she queried.

"My son has- hazel eyes. Like his mother." Laura's heart broke for the man that had waited his entire life to know who he was, where he belonged.

"Are you sure? You said you only saw him once." Remington lifted his hand in her direction, stopping her from asking any further questions.

"I-uh, I don't think, uh, a father could make that mistake so easily. Could he, Your Lordship?"

"No," the Earl agreed, obviously saddened.

"Are you saying he isn't your-but, he's the right age, and he was raised in Ireland- and the watch. What about the watch?"

"Well, the initials S.J. stand for Sean James. The boy's name. I gave it to a friend to make sure he received it when he came of age."

"Well, there you are," Laura said, as though it all but sealed the deal.

"The watch was lost or stolen. And when you turned up with it, I naturally assumed it had found its way back to my son."

"Well," Remington mulled aloud. "That would make sense."

"What does?" Laura asked, baffled by the statement.

"My father probably stole the watch," he told her in his typical good humor. He and the Earl shared a smile.

"I'm truly sorry, Mr. Steele. For both our sakes."

The two men shook hands and shared a final embrace before Remington crossed the room to Laura.

"Shall we, Miss Holt? I think we have a long way to go." He turned to give the Earl a final look. "Good day to you, sir." Laura was at a loss of what to do, so did the only thing she could think of at the moment.

"I'm so sorry," she told him quietly, sincerely, laying a hand on his arm.

They sake hands, then smile and embrace again. "Shall we, Miss Holt? I think we have a long way to go. Good day to you, sir." He opens the door.

He guided Laura through the magnificent home and back to the car, his hand resting lightly at the small of her back. Handing her into the car, he waited until he slipped into the driver's seat, started the car and put it in gear before speaking.

"Well, it would appear the mystery of who I am shall continue on, eh?" he asked. Compassion shone in her eyes when she looked at him. Without thought, she took his hand in hers, tangling their fingers. She had no words to offer him, only her presence. She hoped that would be enough.


	2. Chapter 2: Disclosure and Denial

Chapter 2: Disclosure & Denial

They drove in relatively companionable silence back to the London Hampton, every once in a while one or the other pointing out an interesting sight. Eventually, Laura closed her eyes and dozed, still clutching Remington's hand in hers only to awaken when a pair of fingers traced the outline of cheekbone to jaw. Her eyes fluttered open and then she sat bolt upright when she realized the hotel valet was patiently waiting for them to exit the vehicle so he could park it. Without a word spoken, she gracefully extracted herself from the car and allowed Remington to escort her inside and to her room. Like the night before, he gallantly opened her door, and like the night before, the uncomfortable silence between them ensued. This time, however, especially in light of the morning events, he was unwilling to let things remain unsaid between them.

"Uh, Laura," he cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels when she looked up at him, "Am I presumptuous in assuming that you, uh, would like me to return to LA with you?" He stumbled over the words, clearly uncertain. She leveled an appraising look upon him, her own nerves and uncertainty making her fall back into old habits, safe habits of answering in a way that would place nothing at risk.

"To answer that would require an assumption on my own part that you wish to come back to LA," she hedged. She scrunched her face as a pained look crossed his, and he removed his hands from his pockets to scrub at his face. When he dropped his hands, he looked at her with resigned determination.

"Would you mind?" he indicated her room with his hand.

"Not at all," she said, her voice conveying a cool detachment that was the antithesis of her pounding heart.

Preceding him into the room, she tossed her clutch onto the bed then, taking a deep breath, turned to face him when he closed the door and locked it behind him. Leaning on an arm propped against the door, he dropped his head to consider the carpet at length. When he finally looked up to meet her unwavering gaze, he exhaled heavily.

"Laura, do you wish for me to return to LA with you?" His directness startled her, setting her off balance. Taking several steps away from him, she twined her hands together and tapped two fingers against her lips.

"I never asked you to leave in the first place, Mr. Steele," she replied, neatly sidestepping a direct answer.

"You left me no choice," he sighed defeatedly, swiping a hand roughly across his mouth. The implied accusation raised her hackles.

"I suggested we take some time—" she began, voice rising.

"You _ended_ us," he interrupted in a shout. " _Again_ , _you_ _ended us._ I was given no choice in the matter. There was no discussion. And unlike Cannes, no good reason for your decision!" She planted her hands on her hips, chin tipped up in defiance.

"You _lost_ our _license_ ," she accused. He shook his head vehemently, wagging an accusatory finger back at her.

" _No!_ No, I did not." He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, his voice considerably more level when he spoke again. Turning on his heel, he swiped a hand through his hair before facing her again. "I've had a lot of time to consider that particular charge while I was gone. You left Mildred and I there to face that investigator alone. To answer questions, might I point out, that we'd no way, _no way,_ of knowing the answers for. Questions about cases that _you_ had solved _long before either of us_ had come along. Yet knowing our license was in peril, _having been told_ by Mildred that we were at the Bureau's mercy, _you took flight_." Guilt assailed her but she shook the feeling off with an iron will.

"I was _working a case_ , may I remind you," she retorted, cooly.

" _As was I,_ " he reminded her, "while also running about trying to determine who took a shot at _your_ lovely hide!" She closed her eyes and pressed fingers against both temples.

"If you _truly believed_ you hadn't done anything wrong, why didn't you _fight, fight for us?"_ she demanded to know.

"I did. I did. _I did!"_ he shot back, voice rising again. "How in the blue blazes did you think you had the bloody license back in your hands within the day?!"

"That arrived in the mail _after you'd gone_. How is that _fighting for us_?"

"You left me _no choice,_ " he repeated, pointing a finger again at her in frustration, before turning away and walking to the window to stare outside, seeing nothing.

"You could have _stayed!"_ Despite the volume of her words, he could hear the hurt her voice. It stabbed at his heart, but didn't compare to the ache that had returned at the memory of her boarding that plane for Mexico. Rubbing his face, he somehow found the strength to turn and face her, battling the impulse to walk out that door and let things go on as they always had – unresolved, the unspoken always between them.

"Laura, there is very little that I'd not do for you, but _that_ was among them." He resisted the impulse to go to her as he watched her blink rapidly, an action he knew meant she was trying to keep the tears at bay.

" _Why not?!_ " she appealed, voice rising once more.

"Because I bloody well don't have it in me to stand by and watch as you give yourself to another man, that's why!" he shouted, his chest heaving. The words, his tone, the agony painted across his face, his body, left her stumbling backwards several paces. Unknowingly, she stood shaking her head at him, even as she denied to herself the implications his words held.

"I don't know what you mean," she nearly whispered the lie. He stared at her, stunned that she'd deny the charges when he'd seen her with his own two eyes. He shook his head at her, then turned away to pace.

"I've spent three years, _three years_ , of my life changing who I am, what I am, _everything about my life,_ to be the man you needed me to be if we ever stood a chance in hell of realizing what we've always been meant to be to one another." He laughed shortly, sourly, while rubbing the back of his neck. "Three years trying to earn _your trust_. Granted, I've fallen short of that mark more times than I'd care to admit, but the one thing I've never done, _never done,_ is lied to you about _us_. Ironic isn't it, that I've never stopped to ask myself if I could trust _you,_ having instead simply _gifted_ _you_ my trust. So imagine my infinite _shock_ as I watched _you_ board a plane for Mexico for an interlude with a man you'd known but _two days_ and _a suspect at that_!" He laughed bitterly again. "Fight for you, eh? Well, I tried. Pity I can't say the same about you, now can I?" Her entire body began to visibly shake as the reality of his words sank in. She pressed a hand over each eye to try to conceal the tears that had fallen against her will.

"You know about William," she gasped, trying to keep the panic at bay. He flipped his hand at her in disgust.

"Ah, decided to fess up now, have you?" he asked, icy sarcasm lacing his words, before betrayal stoked the fires of his anger again. He turned on her, eyes nearly white with his fury, his skin flushed. " _Three years, Laura_. Three goddamned years and you just threw it all way as though none of it had ever mattered… we had never mattered… _I_ had never mattered." Unable to take anymore, he stormed past her to the door that adjoined their room, slinging it open, then the second. He hadn't made it half a pace into his room when her next words cut straight through to his soul.

"Pot…kettle, Mr. Steele. As though you've never had your little flings," she spat out at his retreating form. She had no idea where the words had come from, why she'd said them. To try to assuage her own guilt? To feel as though she'd gained the upper hand? Old jealousies bubbling to the surface? To avoid having to offer explanations that might put _her_ heart at risk? Perhaps all of them combined. Whatever it was, her arrow hit its mark. But when he turned his head to look over his shoulder at her, instead of guilt painted upon his face, she saw only devastation wrought by her words, injury so deep that it rocked her to her core.

" _I haven't_ ," he answered so quietly that she barely heard him, "but you couldn't even attribute to me that bit of decency, could you?" he finished resignedly, before closing the door between them with a finality that seemed to signify the that this was it… it was here… the end.


	3. Chapter 3: Crossing the Line

_**A/N: If you are under 18 or uncomfortable with adult content, please navigate to the next chapter, when posted.**_

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Chapter 3: Crossing the Line

In his room, Remington pulled out the old, battered suitcase that Mildred had retrieved from the boarding house and lay it open on his bed. From the drawers in the dresser he pulled the few meager belongings that he'd arrived with: two pairs of jeans, three button down, long-sleeved shirts, a sweater, his cap, brown leather jacket, socks and undergarments. Setting aside a pair of jeans, shirt and the jacket, he dropped the remainder into the suitcase before moving to the bathroom to collect his shower kit. Tossing it into the suitcase as well, he sat heavily on the bed and with elbows on knees dropped his head into his hands

When he'd taken refuge in Nice, he'd convinced himself that she'd not gone to bed with the man. It was that belief which had propelled his search for his name. Something to bring her, to convince her that he saw this… them… as real, enduring, that he was committed… she wouldn't wake one day and find him gone. She was his, and he hers, and in his heart it had been that way for longer than he could remember. It had been fanciful thinking on his part to believe she'd seen them the same.

 _You've no one to blame but yourself, Steele, old sport,_ he chastised himself harshly. He'd spent the better part of two decades guarding himself against getting attached to anyone, man or woman. He'd made no promises, given no guarantees, inferred no tomorrows. Even Anna, who he'd once imagined himself to love. He hadn't sat around idly when she'd cast her assignations in his face. Oh, no, he'd gone about finding his own distractions, a little bit of tit-for-tat if you will. Only Laura. Only with her had he been faithful, not only by choice but by inability to be otherwise. Only with her had he dared to stay in one place for so long, not cutting and running when things became… difficult. Only to her had he opened his heart. Only with her had he allowed himself to dream of a future. And in the end, he'd been painted a fool.

Laura had stood staring at the door as it closed silently behind him. Anything would have been better than the way he'd left the room. In that single action he'd spoken more loudly than any words could scream: he'd finally accepted defeat. For three years he'd hung on to the possibility of them, clinging tenaciously to what he believed they were meant to be even as she put up walls, shoved him away… ended them. It wasn't until he witnessed her going away with another man, had believed she'd gone to bed with him, that he'd given up and walked away.

Tilting her head back to look at the ceiling, she lifted a hand, resting the back of in on her forehead. _What have you done, Holt?_ she castigated herself. Remington's possessiveness when it came to her was a very real thing. In her heart, she'd known from the start what his limit would be. She could yell at him, blame him, push him away, pull him back close, leave him hard and aching for her, even end them. He would put up with all of it, waiting her out patiently. There was only one thing for which he'd never be able to forgive her: giving herself to another man as she continued to refuse him. And she hadn't. But now, in a temper, she'd all but made him believe she'd done just that.

Her hand dropped to her side like a dead weight and her eyes widened, as the full impact of what she'd done assailed her. She'd all but confirmed she'd gone to bed with the man, purely out of temper, out of pride. Which meant… which meant… her eyes flew to their shared doors. Without hesitating, she walked to it, surprised when she found it unlocked. Her heart stumbled as she in the sight of him, crushed by the weight of what happened in the room next door, as well as, she imagined, the loss of a possible father that morning. She was only partially correct as his parentage was the furthest thing from his mind.

He must have sensed her presence. He looked up and as quick as a blink of an eye, the pain-filled expression on his face was replaced by the aloof and austere persona of Paul Fabrini. Standing, he assumed the perfect posture of Fabrini, his only recognition of her presence a cool flick of his eyes in her general direction.

"If you'll excuse me, Miss Holt, I'd like a little privacy so that I might change," he informed her in a cool, crisp British accent as he slipped out of his suit jacket and hung it carefully over the back of a chair.

"Mr. Steele…" she began only to lose her train of thought at the icy look he sent her way. She wrapped her arms around herself and averted her eyes, only to pull in a painful breath when she saw his packed suitcase upon the bed. "You're leaving!?" she observed, dismayed that what she'd assumed just a minute past was confirmed.

"So it would appear," he confirmed while removing his tie.

"Just like that?" She demanded to know, only to be met with a raised brow and silence. "We need to finish our talk."

"I don't see why. Enough's been said. Your message has come through loud, clear and has been duly noted," he dismissed her concerns, with his snooty affect firmly in place.

"Mr. Steele—" she tried again, only to draw another glacial glance her way.

"Michael, Douglas, John, Paul, Richard, Mick, Harry, Xenos, Degare. Pick a name, Miss Holt, I'll answer to any of them and my right to use all has never been questioned."

"What does that mean?" she bit out.

"Fairly self-explanatory, I believe," he retorted. "If you'll excuse me." He gave her a nearly imperceptible bow before picking up his clothes off the bed and sequestering himself behind a firmly locked bathroom door.

Closing her eyes, Laura leaned heavily against the wall, pressing a hand to her mouth. Clearly more damage to rectify, she assessed. But where to even begin? She exhaled an anxiety strewn breath. Unless she could find the right words, she had not a single doubt when he emerged from the bathroom, he'd pick up the suitcase and depart. There'd be no bread crumbs to follow this time, he'd make sure of that. He'd simply disappear into the misty night, as he'd once phrased it. No more chances. No more him. She felt the panic clawing at her, as she searched for the magical words that would keep him there so they could work things out. Then, the telltale click of a door knob unlatching told her she'd run out of time and the words were still nowhere to be found.

She watched in silence as he crossed the room laying his neatly folded dress pants and shirt on the desk before picking up his tie and placing it just as neatly on the top of the pile. His shoes were sat on the floor next to the chair. Her fastidious Mr. Steele. They complimented one another in this way, both preferring tidy homes, their possessions treated with respect. They complimented one another in so many ways, she admitted to herself. He was the ying to her yang, the fire to her ice, the heart to her soul. He encouraged her to fly while she taught him how to keep his feet on the ground. He dared her to take risks while she taught him the importance of playing by the rules… at least most of the time. His natural instincts acted as a warning system while her cool logic provided solutions to the threat. His creative approach to cases often led them to the solution while her analytical mind completed the picture. He was everything she wanted and she was about to lose him for good.

"I got off the plane." She said the words softly, so quietly they were barely audible yet the cessation in his movement was so abrupt the words might have been shouted. He didn't speak a word, but he didn't pick up the suitcase either. "I got off the plane," she repeated. "I couldn't do it. I couldn't go." The words hung heavily in the air between them. It seemed like an eternity before he spoke but in reality was only long seconds.

"Why not?" he asked, his voice roughened by his hopes, his fears.

"Because of you," she answered, her own voice anything but steady. "I told him I couldn't do it because I care too much for _you_ and I believe you care for me as well. And whether or not we've found a way to make this… us… work, I couldn't leave until I knew we'd done every we could." He turned to face her, shoving his hands in his pockets, his face unreadable. That he'd shed the mantle of Fabrini she counted as a good sign. He averted his head before speaking.

"And I should take you at your word on this, why?" She flushed at the unspoken accusation. She couldn't recall a single time in their association that he'd questioned her veracity and for him to do so now spoke volumes of the harm done by her actions four months ago and only a short time before in the adjoining room.

"I went straight from the airport to your apartment, _to see you._ To try and make amends for what I'd said," she answered instead.

"The whole of it? Even the role… he… played?" he challenged.

A knock at the door in Laura's room had both of them glancing towards her room. She looked to him for guidance and at the curt nod of his head she retreated to the other room and answered the door.

"I just wanted to let you know I'm on my way…" Mildred began when Laura opened her door before taking quick note of Laura's shake of her head and gesture over her shoulder towards the open doors to the adjoining room. "…to do a little shopping. What time do you want to meet for dinner?" Laura smiled her approval at the other woman.

"Five o'clock? I'd like to eat a little early so I can get packing out of the way afterwards."

"You got it. And tell the Boss I want him to take us to some authentic British digs."

"I will. Thanks, Mildred," she told her, closing the door. She started when she turned around to find Remington had followed behind her. He was still completely closed off from her, leaning with his back against the wall, his arms crossed. She rubbed her arms as she walked nearer to him.

"Knowing I'd only hurt you more than I already had if I did?" she continued the conversation as though it had never paused, while lifting her hands in a helpless gesture, then dropping them. "In all honesty, no, I hadn't planned to."

"I see. Remarkable that a woman who is constantly prattling on about honesty and trust feels those very things should only go one way."

"What was the point other than to hurt you? It had nothing to do with William—"

"It had everything to do with him! You ended us to be with the man, Laura!" She threw up her hands in frustration.

"I ended us because of me, not him! He was an excuse… an escape, just as the license…" She broke off her words pressing her hands against her face. He took several steps further into the room, leaning forward towards her.

"Just as the license was what?" he prodded, needing to hear the admission from her, needing to be vindicated of her former charges.

Dropping her hands from her face, she gesticulated in the air with a single hand. "An excuse, alright?" she asked defensively.

"Thank you for that," he said quietly, surprising the hell out of her. Then, on reflection it didn't surprise her at all. How often, without hesitation, had he forgiven then seemingly forgotten his injuries at her hands? Why was it normally only at times like these that she forgot what a gentle heart he had? That thought gave her the encouragement she needed to continue to try and heal the rift between them.

"If not for… him," he couldn't force himself to utter the man's name, "… or our license, why then? What is that I'd done this time?" She shook her head and threw up her hands again turning away from him to pace the length of the room.

"You hadn't _done_ anything, not intentionally at least!" He raised his brows at that.

"But unintentionally I had, is that right?" he asked, latching on to her last words.

"No! Yes! I don't know! Maybe in a way. It was different after Cannes. _You_ were different. The things you'd say. The way you acted." She pressed her fingers to her temples trying to sort out her thoughts.

* * *

" _ **Reminds me of you. The queen of hearts."**_

" _ **I get the feeling the answer might frighten both of us."**_

" _ **It just makes you human, Laura. Appealingly human."**_

" _ **I don't have to know who I am to know how I feel."**_

* * *

"Not in a bad way. Actually in a very good way, but confusing nonetheless." He took a step closer to her again. She was rarely this forthright about her feelings with him, hiding instead behind glib remarks, sarcastic entreaties or comments about how she had to guard herself against him. If she kept talking, maybe they'd finally find a way past some of those walls she took shelter behind.

"I'm afraid you'll have to give me a hand on that last bit. If it's a good thing, why would it be all the more confusing?" She looked towards the ceiling, trying to understand herself, to put it into words.

"I told you once not long after you'd joined the agency that Murphy was concerned I'd find myself in too deep with you…" She squeezed her shut tight. "…That he wasn't alone in that concern." She resumed her pacing. "Even with your smarmy remarks, adolescent passes and your ability to drive me stark raving mad, I was drawn to you, to everything I saw under all those personas you'd switch between." She paused in her pacing to regard the ceiling once more. He stood in silence waiting until one minute, then two passed.

"Laura…" he nudged. She looked at him, eyes glazed at first. When they cleared, she gave him a half-smile of apology.

"Those last few months I knew I wouldn't be able to…" she stumbled then tried again, "…I knew we were rapidly reaching a point where we'd be…" she shook her head and laughed almost sadly, "…crossing that line sooner than later. All the old excuses for … not… were rapidly disappearing. But if I was in way too deep that first year, what did that mean? Over the two years in between, you'd become not only truly my partner, but my… closest friend… as well." She drew in a shaky breath and he watched as her whole body trembled when she exhaled. This time he followed his instincts and stepped to her, lifting her hair over her shoulder with two fingers.

"Shouldn't that be a good thing?" he suggested. Troubled brown eyes lifted to consider him.

"Maybe," she acquiesced with a frown. "Until, that is, I have to try and put back together all the pieces when you go away," she answered almost forlornly. She blinked against the moisture in her eyes several times, before slipping away from him and placing distance between them.

"Laura…"

"It's alright," she told him, her voice sharper than she'd intended. "You've never lied to me, have always made it clear that you couldn't make any promises." She sighed. "Even Daniel made that clear."

"I could cheerfully wring Daniel's neck for what he said to you. He had no right—"

"To be honest?" she asked, interrupting.

"Laura…"

"It's fine," she interrupted again, cutting him off. "It was far more about me than you anyway." This time it was he that blinked hard, sensing the conversation had suddenly veered but not sure in what direction.

"What Daniel said was about you?" he sought to clarify. She waved her hand at him dismissively over her shoulder.

"LA. What I did." His hands returned to his pockets and he rocked back on his heels.

"Ah. Care to enlighten me with what you mean by that?"

"After Wilson…" she quelled a laugh when she clearly heard Remington mutter 'sodding wanker' under his breath. "After Wilson I devoted myself to changing those things about me that could cost me again in the future. No more 'flights of frivolity,' curtailing my impulsiveness, reining in my recklessness."

"I'm quite aware of all of this – _painfully_ aware," he acknowledged. She sent him a pained smile over her shoulder.

"That's precisely my point. All those parts of me that I've carefully locked away, hidden? You're enamored with them, thrilled when they come out. But how long until they cost me again?"

"So if I understand you correctly, you blame me for appreciating all sides of you?" he asked, puzzled.

"Yes! No! I don't know!" she growled. "In those last months before… before I suggested we take time, it was becoming _too easy_ to become _that_ person again. In San Francisco, I allowed myself to forget, just for a little while yet I did it all the same, that we had crooked cops after us. I was so… caught up… in you… us… how much I enjoy dancing with you. I was ready to fly away with you – Catalina, Aspen, Hawaii – workload be damned. In Vegas I was willing to risk everything on the next roll of the dice – including the Agency!"

"Laura—"

"No! Just listen to me! All of it – where we were heading, how I'd been acting – _All of it_ made me convince myself that at least he was safe. A man who believed in the good old protestant work ethic. There would be no evenings in Vegas. He was calendars detailing every hour of each day; lists on the refrigerator of things to be done. The expected 2.3 children, a dog and a modest home in the suburbs."

"A remarkably dull existence should you ask me," he drawled, irritated that she'd even given a life with the man that much thought.

"Exactly! I'd be good, old dependable Laura. Responsible. Reliable. Focused. I'd never been in too deep with him. I wouldn't be left picking up the pieces of my life when he went away, because he wouldn't be going anywhere."

"You'd be bored out of your mind before a year was out," he challenged.

"Bored, yes, maybe. But the Agency would remain intact because I wouldn't be constantly tempted to turn my back on it, to steal away! Not with him! The old Laura wouldn't threaten everything I've tried to become, because _he_ wouldn't encourage her to appear. And I wouldn't be left alone once his curiosity was sated because to leave would go against everything he was raised to believe. Even if we were miserable, he would _stay!_ " She swiped viciously at the tears sliding down her face, irritated that she hadn't realized she'd been crying. He took five swift steps and grasped her face in his hands.

"Why is it that you assume you alone are not reason enough to keep me here? I've stayed three years for you. Have changed all of me for you!" She backed away from him, shaking her head.

"And then you left!" she accused.

"Only because you made it patently clear that there was nothing left for me there!" he threw back, his own frustration mounting again. "This wasn't Cannes, where we retained the professional relationship, where at least a sliver of hope remained that in seeing you each day you might come to change your mind. In trying to keep _yourself_ safe, you took _me to my knees_ , taking away all that meant anything to me, all that I'd worked for, even the _hope_ of what we were meant to be." He took several deep breaths and forced him to calm down. When he did, he went to her and took both of her hands in his. "When will you believe that you, Laura Holt, are the reason I returned to LA instead of pursing the Royal Lavulite… the reason I have stayed all these years?" He lifted a hand to brush his lips over the knuckles, his earnest blue eyes locking with her damp amber ones. His lips caressed the back of her other hand before he reached up to cup the back of her neck.

Dazed brown eyes searched his face and what she found in the depths of his bright blue eyes warmed her to her core. Only earnest honesty and an emotion she was afraid to define could be found. Without conscious thought she tipped her head back and lifted her lips to his. It was an unspoken invitation he couldn't deny.

"Laura," he murmured in the moment before his lips covered hers. The kiss started tentative, soft touches of his lips to hers, that left her humming. Only then did he dare to deepen the kiss, losing himself in the familiar texture and fullness, the taste of her, that had haunted his dreams throughout the months they'd been apart. He hummed his pleasure when her lips opened under his of their own accord. He plundered, briefly, before ending the kiss.

Unaccountably, the parting of their lips left her feeling bereft. The emotion confused her to her core. He was there, standing in front of her, eyes watching closely the play of emotions across her face. She could still taste him on her lips, clearly smell the rich, woodsy scent of his skin and cologne combined. She concentrated on the feeling of his fingertips, tangling gently in her hair. But instead of finding comfort in the contact, it only reminded her of all the weeks she'd spent without him; reminded her of all she'd nearly thrown away in a foolish moment of anger and fear. She took a step closer, leaning her forehead against his chest, her hands clutching his hips.

Remington rested his chin on the top of her head, his hands moving up and down her arms in a soothing caress. He understood all too well what she was feeling. Weeks of hurt followed by anger then the pure, unadulterated need to hear her voice, to smell the scent of honeysuckle and sunshine resting lightly in the air, to look into those amber eyes that warmed his soul, left him aching for her. Not just physically; long ago he'd learned to quell that particular feeling, much to his regret. It was connection he longed for, that undefinable feeling that always lingered underneath the surface of their friendship and partnership, that bound them inexorably together even as he misstepped, as she pulled away. The feeling that it was here, with her, that he'd always been destined to be.

Her hands released his hips so that her arms could wrap around his waist. She shivered noticeably. For months she'd asked why this time was different, why he'd fled. For months, she'd recalled the stark hurt on his face, in his eyes, when she'd ended them. To now know that he'd tried to fight back, only to see her leave him for another man? That she'd so thoroughly underestimated him, sent another shiver along her body. She wrapped her arms tighter around him and adjusting her head slightly, she listened to the soothing thrum of his heartbeat.

He stole a hand into her hair, his fingers moving rhythmically against her scalp, continuing to comfort. Intuitively, he understood she needed time to process all that had been said between them. For a woman who craved communication, openness, when it did come, it inevitably left her off-balance, unsure of where to tuck all of the newfound information away. And, certainly, the last hour had been an avalanche of revelations, confessions. It was more than a little ironic that for the man who'd spent a lifetime holding his cards close to his chest, that he'd found that same communication freeing. Pulling her tighter to him, he cursed his inability to say _those_ words.

Laura inhaled deeply, capturing his scent, as his heart continued its steady beat beneath her ear. As always the warmth of his scent soothed her frayed nerves. It was one of the things that most unnerved her about him: all of the unknowns of his past should make him what she feared most, but instead it was to him she turned when she needed to feel safe. His tender heart, gentle hands, soothing touch – all of these the antithesis of what his past should have made him. Yet somehow, despite the should have beens, he'd been able to hold tight to his innate goodness. She tipped her head back to look at him, found herself captivated by the quiet yearning that was always present in his shockingly blue eyes. Her hands, of their own accord, skimmed over his hips, up his chest and over his shoulders to lace around his neck.

Remington saw the quiet request in the limpid amber eyes and didn't need more than that to accept the silent invitation. Embracing her face in both hands, he drew her lips up to his, his eyes closing at first contact. As it had been from the time of their first kiss, his entire body shimmered at the feel of her lips under his. A hand skimmed over her jaw, settling on her neck to stroke, his other arm reaching around her back to draw her closer. He caressed her with feather light touches, satisfied by simply being able to taste her, in being able to explore her soft, full, willing lips. They parted, barely, briefly, to draw a breath. He locked his lips over hers, more firmly this time, reveling in her response. When her hand pressed firmly against the back of his neck, he dared to touch the tip of his tongue to her lips, then hummed when she willingly, eagerly opened to him again. She pressed ever closer to him as he explored, her own tongue tangling with his when he plundered deeper. With a shared gasp, they separated, eyes meeting.

Laura stared into eyes deepened by emotion to nearly the color of sapphires. Chest heaving, he drew her back into his arms, holding her against him as though she was made of the most fragile glass. She knew that the hug signified his acceptance that things would go no further between them; his thankfulness that she'd allowed them to go as far as they had. Flattening her palms against his chest, she leaned back, their eyes reconnecting. It was there, that same mix of emotions that had dwelled there for years: confusion, a nearly desperate longing, and the words that she needed to hear but he had never given her. Expressive eyes that couldn't lie, not to her. It was maybe the truth that lay within them that had so often sent her scurrying away, because accepting it meant letting the last of her walls fall.

Reaching up, she palmed his face in her hands and felt those walls crumble. _Right time, right heart, right man,_ she thought, finally accepting what she'd known for years. Pressing up on her tiptoes, she drew his head downward towards her.

"Remington," she whispered against his lips. His body quaked almost violently at the first time she'd ever used the name to address him. Their lips had barely grazed against each other, when he pulled back, clasping her face in his hands this time and searching her eyes. What he saw there, almost buckled him at his knees.

"Laura," he spoke quietly, "that's the first time you've ever called me by anything other than Mr. Steele." She tilted her head to look at him, the kissed dazed look turning to uncertainty.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, then tried to move away from him as a flush spread across her skin. "I just thought… I assumed… from what you said earlier… comments you've made before…" She heaved out a frustrated puff of air, averting his eyes from him. Reaching deep inside and finding a little backbone, she swiveled her head to face him again, looking him bold in the face. "What name do you want me to call you? Who do you see yourself as?"

"There's only one name that's ever felt right, that I've tried to earn the right to call my own. The one that you gave me," he answered, clearly uncomfortable, waiting to hear once name it was a name bestowed not earned. She bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes, relieved that she'd made the right decision before she sent Mildred on her way.

"There's only one man I think of when I hear the name," she admitted, not easily. In releasing her hold on the name, she was giving up another way of keeping some distance between them. "I don't think of the mythical boss I invented. I think only of you." His face showed a host of emotions at her admission: Disbelief, unadulterated pleasure, and a peace she had never seen there before.

He traced her jawline with a single finger then claimed her lips under his own in a hauntingly tender kiss that conveyed all he was feeling. Her hand skimmed along his shoulders then tangled in his hair, urging him closer. His lips explored, softly, then more firmly, teeth nipped gently, occasionally the tip of his tongue dared to dart out and taste. That she responded fully, only upping the ante when her tongue drew along his lower lip then her mouth opened to him, sent a trill of pure pleasure down his spine. With a soft moan, he readily accepted the invitation, then stopped breathing all together when he felt one of her hands moving surely down the row of buttons on his shirt. His kisses slowed, turned even gentler, as if not to scare her away. He stilled completely when her hands tugged his shirt from his pants. He dropped his head to her shoulder, burying his face in her neck.

"Are you sure?" He managed to force the words past his lips, instantly regretting his bloody chivalry when her hands withdrew. When she palmed his head, lifting it from her shoulder, he resigned himself to accepting the moment had passed. His breath caught when his eyes met with sultry amber eyes that exuded confidence.

"Right time…" she pressed a kiss against his jaw, "…right heart," she placed a kiss against his chest, "…right man," she finished. And with those six words, the petite woman that had beguiled him since the moment they'd met, left his heart flopping at her feet.

"Christ, Laura, come here," he demanded gruffly, his voice flooded with emotion. His fingers clasped the back of her neck, drawing her up to her full height, the kiss conveying the feelings raging through his body at her words. Goosebumps dotted his skin when her small hands eased his shirt over his shoulders. With a shake of his wrists, he let it drop to the floor.

This time it was she left with goosebumps shimmering over her skin, when his hands settled on her hips, then slowly skimmed up her sides and back down before slipping beneath her sweater. His hands moved no further than to explore the curve of her silk covered waist, yet the contact left her humming aloud as jolts of electricity lit up her body. His lips lifted in a smile against hers, even as his hands continued their chaste caress, leaving her yearning for more contact. Feathering her hands over his sides from hips to ribs, she lifted her arms in the air, a brazen invitation to remove a layer of the clothing separating them. He chuckled softly, appreciatively, then slipping his hands around the hemline, slowly shimmied the sweater up her body, before pulling it over her head. He admired the fall of her silky hair as it settled back down over her shoulders, then, dragging his hair through the stands, drew her lips back to his.

Laura's fingers contracted against his arms as long, elegant fingers trailed over her back, leaving sparks in their wake. Feeling her reaction to his touch, he repeated the action, humming with satisfaction as he felt her body coming vibrantly alive beneath his hands. In return, she lightly scraped her nails down his back. Powerless, he arched into her hands, groaning quietly against her lips, drawing a lyrical laugh from her throat.

"Pleased with yourself, eh?" he teased, against her lips.

"No more so than you are with yourself," she retorted, tilting her head back and giving him a jaunty little look that made his heart soar.

His pleasure filled laugh turned into a moan, when her hand dared to explore the contours of a cheek of his bum. It occurred to him that if she was free to touch, he was as well. His hands slipped below her waist to touch, trace, squeeze her derriere, wrenching a gasp from her lips. So caught up in her reaction was he, that he sucked in a gulping breath when he realized her hands were once again on the move. Quickly divesting him of his belt, she popped open the button to his pants, and slid down the zipper, her hand brushing against his hardened length. Both of his hands clenched her bottom, and without plan, he instinctively ground his hips against hers, drawing a husky laugh from deep within her throat. He grasped her face in his hands and plundered, feasting hungrily on her taste as her hand shoved his pants over his hips and down.

"My God, Laura," he murmured, ripping his mouth from hers, breathing hard. His hands rapidly dispensed with her skirt as he toed off his shoes and socks. Backing her towards the bed, he thought to draw her onto his lap but she had other ideas in mind, slipping between his bent legs and standing there, letting her gaze rake over him from head-to-hip, her small hands following in the wake of her eyes. She leaned forward, sucking the lobe of an ear into her mouth, lathing it with her tongue.

"Lay back, Remington," she whispered, then blew softly against the wet lobe, making him exhale sharply.

In the three years he'd dreamt of this moment, not once had he imagined the often shy and hesitant Laura in the role of seductress. Sliding backwards on the bed, he lay prone, his eyes closing at the sensation of his throbbing erection pillowed between the apex of her legs when she straddled him, the silk between them only intensifying the sensuality. Forcing his eyes back open, he watched the play of emotions over her face as her hands whispered over his shoulders, down his arms and back again, before her fingers began to explore the silken hair of his chest. Keenly aware of the still healing punctures in his abdomen, she tilted her head to look at him.

"Is this okay?" she asked softly, her voice husky with desire. He found himself wholly unable to speak while her hands were caressing his chest as they were. Wide eyed, he could only nod his head. She nipped at her lower lip, clearly pleased with herself before she set herself free to explore his body thoroughly, leisurely.

Laura's delighted, husky laugh echoed around them often as she uncovered his body's secrets one at a time. A tongue drawn against the skin beneath his ear then blown lightly upon would tear a moan from deep within his throat. When she suckled firmly at the skin of his collarbone, marking him as hers, his back would arch from the bed while his hands desperately clenched at her hips and he'd whisper her name. A tongue flicked against a nipple would send his eyes rolling back in his head, while his fingers tangled in her hair. A face nuzzled into the hair on his chest would leave him humming in contentment. Fingers raked lightly down his abdomen saw his hips bucking beneath her. He hid nothing from her, and she reveled in her ability to bring him extreme pleasure. The nearly desperate manner with which he clutched at sheets, pillows and headboard as she explored made her wonder if, indeed, he'd been celibate as long as he'd implied earlier. The thought was so overwhelming that she shook it free of her mind. _Later, we'll deal with that later… much later._

Remington struggled for control underneath her libidinous assault on his body. By the time she shifted off of him, a thin sheen of sweat covered his skin and he wondered how he'd possibly underestimated the affect she'd have upon him. From the moment they'd met, he couldn't remember ever wanting a woman more than her. To know that she exulted in the pleasure she was able to give to him was… humbling. In every dream he'd ever had of them making love, it was he that brought her this breathtaking pleasure. He nearly laughed at his own conceitedness. By touch alone she was doing what no other woman before her had done: taking him to his knees… figuratively speaking. So focused was he on his thoughts and the little matter of remembering how to breathe, that he'd nearly missed Laura skimming his briefs over his hips.

Laura swallowed hard, her eyes darting to his face when she took in his impressive erection. _Apparently the association between large hands and a man's assets aren't a myth after all,_ she thought to herself. Oh, she'd come into close contact with this part of him over the years, always through the clothing when it would brush her hip or stomach before he adjusted in that gentlemanly way of his, so she'd had a good idea that he wouldn't disappoint, but she never dreamed once she saw, held him in the flesh that she'd be downright intimidated. She trailed her fingers from his shoulders, down his chest and stomach, over his hips and down a thigh, before reversing track and drawing a single finger up the underside of his erection, her lips quirking when his shaft twitched, hard, and Remington grabbed for the mattress in response. Leaning over him, she pressed her lips against his, then withdrew.

"You're beautiful," she whispered. His blue eyes lit with pure pleasure at her words, then promptly rolled back in his head when her hand grasped the base of his shaft.

Her eyes rounded, teeth working her lower lip, when she realized her thumb and middle finger didn't quite touch. That thought was quickly lost, however, when his hips began to buck wildly off the bed as she opened and closed her hand around him. Pure, womanly satisfaction lit her eyes at the recognition that she'd identified another of his weaknesses. A finger grazing over the skin behind his balls ripped a deep moan from his chest, as he was left squirming against the bed. A gentle squeeze of his scrotum saw him panting, his hand grabbing desperately at the headboard. A thumb swirled over the head of his shaft resulted in a guttural "Oh, God," torn from deep within his throat as his hands wrapped themselves in the bedding. A tongue run up the underside of his length then flicked against the tip? Well, that resulted in a pair of hands grabbing at her frantically and dragging her up his body, before he neatly flipped them over so that he lay on top of her.

"We'll be 'aving none o' that, m' Laura, lest we wish to find ourselves waitin' a bit," he murmured against her ear. She laughed, delighted with the sounds of his childhood language dancing through his words. "I do believe it's m' turn to 'ave m' way with you," he whispered against her lips, before plundering her mouth until she squirmed beneath him.

"It appears that it is," she managed to squeak out, when their lips parted and eased her out of her teddy, then with an occasional oath of frustration, freed her from her panty hose.

"I'll have to be introducin' you to the benefits o' stockin's, Laura," he puffed, feeling like anything but the smooth, suave connoisseur of the female form he was once considered, after clumsily ridding her of the garment. He stretched out beside her, as she covered her mouth with a hand when she emitted a decidedly girlish giggle. He flashed a toothy grin at her, utterly beguiled by her relaxed state. His smile only widened when the giggle became a gasp at the first touch of his fingers against her skin.

Laura was surprised where he began, having always assumed he'd wage a war on her senses from the outset. Instead, he lay next to her, utterly content as his fingers trailed slowly from freckle-to-freckle, thoroughly unable to believe he was at last free to touch the marks that had enraptured him for three long years. Flames danced along her skin with each touch and when, after long minutes which made her certain he'd become intimately acquainted with each and every dapple of color, his lips and tongue began paying homage to each sprinkle as well. That such innocent acts could so thoroughly arouse her left her stunned and yet the proof that it had done just that was there in the flush of her skin and the shortening of her breath.

Remington changed tactics, determined to learn as much about her delightful little body as she had his. Closing his eyes, he traced the curve of her hip, of her waist, then memorized the rise and fall of each of her ribs. After repeating the pattern several times, he changed his route, flattening his palm and discovering the firmness of her abdomen, the line of her sternum and the soft swell of the valley between her breasts. Only after he'd committed all these facets of her lovely form to memory, did he open his eyes to meet her dazed amber ones. He leaned in for a kiss, teasing her lips, tasting her, exploring her depths before his lips trailed away along the line of her jaw.

One-by-one, he revealed each of her body's secrets. Like himself, a tongue lathed below an ear then blown upon sent shivers down her spine. But that was where the similarities ended. A mouth suckling upon that area between neck and collarbone made her squirm with delight. Lips against a wrist made her fingers contract, where as those same lips on an inner elbow left her panting. A gentle pull by his mouth on her inner hip would lift those hips from the bed. A nibble on the inside of a knee would leave her entire body shaking. A tongue circled around her navel would have her moaning aloud. Of all the new discoveries, there were two that stood out above all, as he could envision using them for a great deal of amusement in the days ahead: a thumb moved diagonally against the small of her back would leave her delectable little behind twitching with pleasure, and her waist was deliciously sensitive, only the slightest bit of stroking making her writhe with pleasure.

Laura groaned aloud in utter frustration, drawing a light chuckle from him. More times than she could count, she'd tried to guide him to where she needed him most yet each time he'd perfectly circumvented those areas, all the while raising a brow and tossing her a wicked grin. By the time he urged her to roll back over onto her back, her body was trembling with need.

"Remington," she moaned.

Hearing her say his name again, knowing that even in the throes of passion it was who she saw him as, shot a jolt of pure pleasure from his heart to his groin. He stopped his teasing and immediately claimed a breast in each hand, closing his eyes against the heady pleasure of at last feeling her under his hands. He cupped the small globes, testing their weight, finding them a perfect fit to his palms. His thumbs brushing over her hardening nipples left her back arching of the bed, her hands twisting in the sheets. When he at last, with a soft tug of his lips, took a peak into his mouth, a hand buried itself in his hair, urging him to continue his ministrations, while her body quietly thrashed beneath him. Turning his attentions to her other breast, he adjusted himself to lay between her legs, gently rocking against her, once… twice… three times. She gasped his name, then shattered, her entire body quaking from the force of her climax. Sliding a hand between her body and the bed, he pressed her tight against him, needing to feel, to see the effects of her orgasm.

Her body was still twitching from the aftermath, her eyes still dazed, when he shifted off of her. As his mouth returned to take possession of a breast, a hand slid between her legs, parting her wet, hot folds to press against the bundle of nerves that were the center of everything. He experimented, briefly, until her gasps and moans told her he'd found the rhythm that she liked best, his hand all too soon departing, only for her to sigh when a single finger slipped inside of her. His hand teased a breast, as he pressed up on an elbow to cover her mouth with his own, while gently inserting a second finger inside her to join the first. Her hand clutched his head to her, as she drowned in his rich taste. He experimented once again, until he discovered the tips of his fingers bent slightly forward provided the friction she needed in exactly the right spot. When her breathing became thready and he felt her body tensing against his, his hands drifted away. He desperately needed to be sheathed within her, to feel every nuance of her climax surrounding him when she found her peak this time. He shifted his body over top of hers, to lay between her legs.

"Why'd you stop?" she moaned quietly, her hands clenching at his back, her body throbbing.

"Ah, damn," he muttered the oath, dropping his head to her shoulder in dismay at the sudden realization he'd not come prepared for the next step. Her eyes flew open at his oath.

"What's the matter?" she panted, confused by both his words and that his ministrations had come to an abrupt halt. He lifted his head and flashed her a rueful smile that was filled with both regret and a certain amount of chagrin.

"I… uh… stopped carrying protection some time ago," he told her with a shake of his head. He'd accepted long ago that Laura and he would only make love after long, careful deliberation on her part. The condoms tucked into the side of his wallet had eventually become a mockery, in his eyes, reminding him regularly of what he most wanted but stayed perpetually out of his reach. She nodded, understanding, then drew her fingers through his hair.

"I, um, went on the pill right after San Francisco," she whispered, pressing herself upwards to touch her lips to his. "Are you okay with that?" His eyes searched her face, as his fingers toyed with the ends of her hair. For nearly two decades, minus the last years when he'd been celibate of course, he'd always, without exception, worn a condom, unwilling to risk leaving a child behind. But, this was Laura, and she'd no more take a chance of an unexpected pregnancy than she would gamble with the fate of the Agency. He bent his head to touch his lips to hers.

"With you, of course," he murmured against her lips. His lips claimed hers in a tender kiss as he reached between them to position himself at her entrance. Propping himself on his elbows, he tangled the fingers of both hands with hers. "Then look at me, Laura." Her lashes fluttered upwards, her eyes meeting, holding with his.

With a flex of his hips, he inched into her, the tip of his shaft widening her sheath, drawing a gasp from her. Her eyes rounded and her body shook. It had been nearly five years and Remington was well-endowed. He lay his forehead against hers, forcing himself not to move, while Laura panted and willed her muscles to relax. Only when he felt her muscles slacken slightly, did he withdraw partway, then press forward a couple more inches. Her fingers gripped his almost painfully. He dropped his head and panted against her shoulder, fighting the urge to bury himself in her in a single stroke.

"I don't want to hurt you, Laura," he mumbled. She shook her head from side-to-side.

"You could never hurt me" she answered quietly. "Just give me a minute." He nodded against her shoulder, concentrating on retaining his composure. She focused again on relaxing. Despite the temporary discomfort, the feeling of him inside of her, at last, had her hovering on the edge already. When she felt her muscles ease, she experimentally tipped her hips upward, pressing more of his length inside. This time, her moan was one of pure pleasure. "More," she whispered against his ear.

Shifting himself back up on his elbows, he withdrew until only his tip was within her then slowly pressed forward, until he was nearly fully buried within her hot, wet heat. He closed his eyes and moaned at the feeling of her surrounding him, not only because he'd never, once, experienced being within a woman unencumbered, but far more so because it was Laura that was surrounding him. With a lift of her hips, she took all of him inside of her, until he was buried to the hilt. His lips found hers and grazed gently, until he felt her hips begin to move.

"My God," he murmured against her lips, "you feel like heaven."

He rocked back, then forward again. She groaned with pleasure at the movement, wrapping her legs around his hips. In only a few strokes, they found the rhythm together. Her legs slid over his hips to lock behind his thighs. Feeling her tensing around him, he nuzzled his face against her neck, before suckling at that place between neck and shoulder. She nearly growled at the action, her hips lifting from the bed to grind against him. Three short strokes later, she cried out his name as her entire body shuddered. Releasing her hands, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her body tight against his. His jaw clenched, as he fought the need to take his own release, her orgasm drawing him high inside of her while her muscles clenched around him. He trailed his lips over her face. When she quivered for the last time, he released her hands and withdrew from her body. Even in her dazed state, she looked at him, confused.

"Where are you going?" He rolled to his side, then reached for her hand, giving it a little tug.

"Come here, Laura," he implored, voice gravelly with emotion and need.

He'd moved to sit on the side of the bed. Without question, she pushed herself up, then moved to him, straddling his lap. He gathered her in a hug, his lips traveling the length of her neck. With a sigh, she relaxed into his embrace, arching her neck to give him more access. Her hands skimmed over his shoulders, then found his hair. Running her fingers through it, she laughed, delighted, when the touch drew a hum from him.

The position allowed them more access to one another and Remington seemed determined to take advantage of that fact. One hand traced her silhouette, explored the curve of her bottom, learned the arch of her back, while the other tangled in her hair, gently guiding her head as his lips explored her throat, collarbone, shoulders, returning to taste her lips in between journeys.

Laura was not passive in her own right, equally determined to take advantage of the body on display before her. For long minutes, she explored the silken texture of his hair covered chest, watching keenly as his muscles flexed and nerves twitched under her touch. Her lips quirked upwards when she made new discoveries about his body: nails scraped lightly over a nipple would send goosebumps skittering down his arms while his body stilled and hands trembled, and fingers feathered down his back would make him lean into her hands and seek out her lips for a tremulous kiss.

Insistent hands on her back pressed her body upwards. With a sigh, Remington's mouth settled over a peaked nipple. For long minutes he explored each of her breasts in turn, learning when a flick of a tongue over the tip of a peak, a gentle nip, or a firm suckle was preferred. By the time his lips returned to her mouth, her body was on fire, her breathing shallow. Guiding him to her entrance, she grasped both of his hands and slowly sank down on him, taking in his entire length in one stroke. Releasing his hands, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned her forehead against his, as his hands sought out her hair, keeping her close while she rose and fell against him.

"Laura," he gasped her name, his hand sliding down her back to wrap his arm around her waist. He was trembling in his efforts to deny his release until she found hers, wanting them to go up in flames together. Somewhat desperately, his lips sought out the base of her neck, while his hand skimmed her side before claiming a breast in his palm. The shortness of her breath told him she was near. Pulling firmly against her neck with his mouth, he stroked the puckered peak with a thumb, shoving her over the edge into oblivion. Her hands clenched his shoulders and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight against him, as her clenching muscles left him exploding deep within her depths. The feeling of his body twitching within hers was almost more than she could bear. Burying her face in his neck, she whispered his name against his skin while he shouted hers.

In the aftermath, their hands sought to soothe each other. Lips trailed over skin, seeking to maintain closeness, contact. Only once their breathing had evened out did Laura move to disconnect their bodies, wincing slightly as Remington slipped free of her. With a practiced grace, he rolled them over to stretch across the bed facing one another. A hand swept her hair over her shoulder, his lips claiming hers again, before tucking her head against his chest and bussing her on the top of the head, then again when she nudged her leg between his. His hand stroked her back, her hair, and arm, until she dozed…and long after.

He nuzzled his cheek against the top of her head. Loving her had far exceeded any dream or fantasy he'd had about her. Her passion matched his own, and their bodies melded together as though they been made for one another and one another alone. Feeling her light breath against his chest, her hand lying against his hip, he knew three things with absolute clarity. First, that those instincts which had propelled him to let go of his pursuit of the Royal Lavulite, had been correct: within his arms lay a far greater treasure than the one he'd forsaken in hopes of what they might find in one another. Second, now that he'd had her, had made her his, hell would freeze over before he'd let her go again. And finally, it would take a good deal of convincing for her to finally lay claim to him as he had done long ago in his heart and mind with her.

He chuckled quietly as sleep threatened to pull him under. Pulling her a little closer, and burying a hand in her hair, he closed his eyes as a smile twitched at the corner of his lips.

He was, after all, a man that loved a good challenge.

(TBC)


	4. Chapter 4: An Invitation

Chapter 4: An Invitation

Laura woke slightly disoriented, a hazard of the trade when they traveled, it often taking a few seconds for her to recollect where they'd found themselves sleeping this time. Blinking her eyes a couple of times the pieces fell into place. Of course, the warm body spooned against her backside, the arm wrapped possessively around her, and the hand resting over her breast provided a few pertinent clues. She wriggled around so that she could look at Remington, noting that he'd readjusted himself in his sleep to keep her near, his leg tucking between hers, his arm slung over her hip, his hand resting on a cheek of her bottom. She bit down on her lower lip, gnawing it thoughtfully. _We've definitely dispelled with the idea that I'd wake after we'd gone to bed together and find him gone,_ she noted to herself with some relief.

She tilted her head back to look at him. Unable to resist the impulse, she touched her lips to his, chuckling silently and lips lifting in a smile as he returned the brief contact even while he slept. He mumbled her name, almost unintelligibly, before shifting a bit and settling back in. His hold on her remained unchanged. She had not a single doubt that he knew precisely who it was with whom he slept.

Loving him had been everything she'd ever imagined it would be, and so much more. His kisses had always set her blood on fire, his touches shooting sparks across her skin. Yet, when she'd dreamed about them – and she had more often than she'd ever admit – crossing that line between boardroom and bedroom, she'd never conceived of where he'd touch her first, how he'd touch her, or the feelings that each touch would convey. She hadn't anticipated the way he'd needed to stay connected to her, whether lacing their fingers together or by pressing his forehead against hers or the way he'd bury his face in her neck when he found himself lost in her… or that he'd be determined she find her pleasure multiple times before he found his even for the first time. How the emotion lying ever present under each action had made her feel… Dare she even think it? Her teeth found her lower lip and she closed her eyes, forcing herself to acknowledge the truth. _Loved. I felt loved._

She drew in a deep breath and lay her forehead against his chest, watching her fingers as they drew pretty patterns there. She shook off the notion as being fanciful, and focused on matters now at hand. If Remington wished to continue their… what to call it, she wondered… and she assumed he would, based on the evidence at hand, there would have to be rules. Very firm rules. Their… _insert word here_ , she thought to herself… could not be allowed to either cross over into the workplace or interfere with Agency business. She started ticking guidelines off in her head as they came to mind. No stolen gropes, no sex in the office. Period. The same went for stakeouts, or any time they were on a case. Business and professional would have to be strictly separate. She mentally cut the air in front of her with her hands, indicating the finality of her decision. There were work nights to con—

She gave a shriek of surprise when a pair of hands suddenly dragged her upwards, lifting her then plopping her down on top of a very sexy body to straddle it. She threw back her head and laughed, as Remington flashed a toothy grin at her.

"Well, I guess the question of whether or not it would be awkward waking with one another after the first time has been answered," she pointed out, laughter dancing across her words. He stroked her hips with his hands while raising a brow at her.

"Had you thought it would be? Awkward, that is? Seems to me we've woken near one another dozens of times before."

"Near to, not with," she pointed out. She leaned down and brushed her lips against his, then climbed off him and the bed, gathering up her clothing from where it was scattered on the floor. He propped himself on an elbow, appreciating that she was as comfortable in her nudity as he.

"Have an appointment to run off to, Miss Holt?" he inquired in a teasing voice, though she caught the confusion lying beneath his words.

"We both do. Mildred will be here in about twenty minutes. Dinner, remember?" He uttered a growl of disapproval.

"Perhaps we could plead exhaustion?" he suggested hopefully. She paused by the bathroom door to look at him.

"The way I see it, Mr. Steele, we have two choices. First, we can clean ourselves up the best we can, throw on our clothes and restore the bedding to some semblance of order, then accompany Mildred to dinner, in which case her curiosity won't be aroused." The look on his face said he'd already discarded this plan. She quashed the urge to smirk at him. " _Or_ , we can do it your way. Plead exhaustion, stay huddled up in here all night, then spend the entirety of the flight home being given sidelong glances, which of course, will extend to the Agency for God only knows how long, as she tries to pry from both of us confirmation of what she suspects, which of course, will only be followed by knowing looks and an outpouring of well-meaning advice and questions about when we intend to make things more official." This time, she did flash him a smug little smile as he swallowed hard at the thought of the latter. "The choice is yours."

"Ah, dinner," he told her, scratching at his chin, as he slipped out of bed to gather up his clothes, "Come to think of it, I could stand a bite to eat."

"I thought you might," she answered, her laughter trickling through the room as she entered the bathroom.

In short order, they managed to pull themselves together enough not to arouse the suspicions of a keen-eyed Mildred Krebs. While Remington was finishing up in his adjoining room, Laura pulled the bedspread back up on the bed, then sat down at the end of it. Left alone with her own thoughts, the same old fears that had made her keep Remington at arm's length for years had begun creeping back in. Had she made a mistake? Just because he was there when she woke this time, didn't mean the same would hold true the next. For years they'd been unable to figure out a way to make their personal and professional lives mesh together. How would now be any different? Would they be able to conceal their personal involvement from clients, or would she be tagged as the little… her lips curled at the thought, _secretary_ … sleeping her way to the top? Would the respect she'd struggled to obtain, and still fought for daily, be compromised? She frowned. This was all presuming he was coming back to LA with her in the first place. She'd assumed, but hadn't asked. Her fingers found her brow and began to rub.

She wasn't the only one plagued with questions. As Remington had quickly scrubbed down his body, taking care not to wet his hair lest he rouse Mildred's suspicions, his own doubts and fears began to surface. Now that they were lovers, would she continue to hold him at arm's length? Would she continue to put business before them at all cost? This was, of course, assuming that there was a 'them' or that she would allow their physical relationship to continue once they were back in LA. He frowned. If he even found a way back to LA. After all, he was a man without a passport, a bit of a requirement to travel transcontinental. Would she go home without him? The thought of losing her again so soon, especially now that he knew what it was like to have her, settled a black cloud over what should be a time of pleasant reflection.

It was with these heavy thoughts on his mind, that he returned to her room, attired in his suit, and propping a couple of pillows against the headboard, stretched out on her bed. That she was sitting at the end of the bed, a contemplative look on her face, and had barely glanced his way when he entered told him she was dealing with her own morass of questions as well. He could only hope that whatever it was that she was masticating on in that complicated mind of hers didn't include regret for what had occurred here this afternoon.

He tried to ease into conversation, to feel her out.

"Ironic, isn't it?" he asked, trying to keep his voice light. "I come here to find out my real name, offer it to you as proof of my commitment, and now, not only are we still in the dark as to who I am, but I no longer know who I was."

"I tried," she answered, clearly distracted by her thoughts, "but Inspector Lombard won't give back your passports."

"Do you like London, Laura?"

"I haven't exactly hit the usual tourist attractions," she pointed out wryly.

"Well, it seems to me, if our relationship is to continue, it will have to be here." He shifted on the bed, still attempting to keep the mood light but searching for answers he needed.

At the knock on her door, she couldn't help the conspiratorial smile that crossed her lips. Swinging it open wide, Mildred came barreling through.

"Miss Holt. Bos-" The name she'd called him for years faded away on Mildred's lips when she saw him reclining on the bed. Remington shifted uncomfortably, sitting up straighter, and looking all the world like a little boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

"It seems you haven't forgiven me my deception yet," he grimaced. Mildred looked from him, to Laura then back to him.

"To tell you the truth, I don't know _how_ I feel. I guess it's gonna take some time to- straighten all this out. Anyway, here you go." She shoved the present she'd entered the room carrying towards him.

"What is this?"

"It's sort of a consolation present from us for not ending up the son of an Earl," Laura answered.

"Just what I need to get over my trauma. Another shirt." He opened the box, giving it a queer look when no shirt lay there then began peeling back the tissue paper a layer at a time. "Or a handkerchief? Socks, maybe?" His hand stilled, shocked by what he found at the bottom of the box and unwilling to hope what it might contain inside.

"I guess you earned it," Mildred coaxed with a smile. Remington took the passport out of the box and opened it almost reverently, flummoxed and touched to his toes when he looked down at the American passport issued in the name of Remington Steele.

"Many happy returns, _Mr. Steele_ ," Laura smiled at him. Remington could only beam as he closed the passport.

"Oh, girls, I'm touched," he told them sincerely, as he gathered both women in his arms for a group hug. "Thank you."

All three heads turned at the sound of a knock at the door in the adjoining room. Raising his brows, Remington rose from the bed and went to answer it. When he returned to Laura's room he had an envelope in hand.

"Bellhop," he provided looking at Laura. "A note from the Earl."

"Well, open it," she directed, her curiosity getting the better of her. She moved to stand next to his side, peering over his arm. Sliding his finger under the flap, he opened the envelope and extracted the contents, glancing with raised brow at a slip contained within a sheet of paper. Handing it to Laura he skimmed what the Earl had written. Laura's eyes grew wide when she looked at what he'd handed her.

"He hopes the bank note will cover the costs we've expended in the course of saving him from assassination and wishes our attendance at the ball celebrating his marriage, commencing this evening at nine at the Café Paris." She glanced at the note in her hand again as Mildred gave a whoop of delight from across the room.

"A royal ball? Who knows who we might meet. A baron, a duke," a hand fluttered up to her mouth. "You don't think Charles and Di will be there, do you?" Remington's eyes glanced her way.

"Doubtful, Mildred," he told her shortly and to the point. His eyes met Laura's asking silently what they were to do. He'd hoped for a quiet evening with her after dinner. There will still matters that needed to be worked out between them and he was more than anxious to continue what they'd started that afternoon. If he'd believed that once they made love his appetite for her would be slaked, he was sorely mistaken. His body was already pulsing with the need to have her again. The look in her eyes told him she was thinking similar thoughts.

"We can't very well decline," she sighed. The look of pained resignation on his face said he agreed. She turned to Mildred. "It looks like you and I will need to go shopping," she advised. Behind her, Remington chuckled lightly. Laura Holt hated to shop. She turned back to Remington. "And you, Mr. Steele, will need a tux."

"Oh," Mildred enthused. "Let me just go to my room and freshen up. It'll take no more than five minutes. Imagine! A ball!" Scurrying from the room she closed the door behind her. Remington reached for Laura the instant the door closed, only to clutch at air as she crossed the room away from him.

"One stop shopping, Mr. Steele. Where in London can Mildred and I go to get a gown, shoes and accessories all in one place?" He tipped his head slightly to the side, his brow raised at her back. _Avoidance, Miss Holt?_

"Harrod's in Knightsbridge should fit the bill," he supplied. He took a couple of steps towards her. "Laura—"

"Is there somewhere locally you can rent a tux on such short notice?" she inquired, still not looking in his direction as she changed out of her heels into a pair of shoes more suited for walking.

"Rent?" he asked with a touch of disdain. "Remington Steele does not _rent_ clothing, Miss Holt." At the nod of her head and quiet snort, her back still to him, he continued, "I've a tailor here that often keeps a thing or two on hand for me. I'll simply pop round his shop." Her back still turned towards him, his frustration continued to mount. A hand reached up to rub the back of his neck. "Laura, we need to talk." Her back straightened perceptibly at the words. For a man that had spent the better part of three years avoiding serious conversations about their relationship, his persistence to do just that throughout the day was making the ground tilt beneath her feet and she couldn't quite find her footing.

"I know we do," she sighed, standing. "But we don't have time right now. Mildred will be back any minute, then there's shopping," she sighed again, "dinner and a ball to attend." She turned to face him, letting out a puff of frustrated air.

It was all the encouragement he needed to step to her and gather her in his arms. He was tempted to remind her she and Mildred were scheduled to return home that next morning, to question what that meant for him, but shoved the notion aside. As she said, it would have to wait and all he wanted in the here and now was to keep her close, remember what it had felt like to make love with her. Tipping up her chin with a single finger, his lips sought hers. He kissed her in that tender way of his that left her toes curling.

"Ready when you ar—" Remington and Laura leaped apart when Mildred walked into the room without knocking. She looked at them, an attempt at a remorseful smile playing on her lips. Truth be told, she loved catching her kids in a clinch. It never failed to give her hope that they'd finally wake up one day and admit what anybody who spent time with the two of them already knew. "Sorry," she offered.

"It's quite alright, Mildred," she told her, walking over to the bed to pick up her purse. "What time should we be ready for dinner?" This was directed towards Remington.

"I should think six thirty would allow us plenty of time before the ball," he answered.

"Count me out," Mildred told them. "I'm going to order up something from room service so I can get all dolled up for the evening. Who knows, I might catch myself a prince!" Remington brightened considerably at the news, and at once his mind started clicking through the various establishments where he might wine and dine Laura.

"Are you sure? We'd love to have you join us," Laura offered.

"Listen, I'm not twenty any more, but I plan to look thirty by the time I'm done. You kids go ahead without me. I'll meet you at Café Paris."

"Alright, if you're sure." She turned to Remington. While she managed to keep her face straight, her eyes were alight with excitement. "I'll see you at six-thirty, Mr. Steele."

"Six-thirty, Miss Holt," he confirmed then watched the door close behind the ladies. Five minutes later he departed his room for his tailor's.


	5. Chapter 5: Committed

Chapter 5: Committed

In the dressing room, Laura scrunched up her nose. She was trying on a one-shouldered, white column dress made of silk that hugged her curves. The dress would have been just the ticket if not for one little thing: the rather prominent hickey at the base of her neck left fully on display. She realized she'd have to make sure Remington curbed his exuberance in this one particular matter, unless, that is, she wished to be relegated to wearing turtlenecks at all times. Hearing Mildred in the cubicle next to her trying on a dress of her own, she quietly slipped out of the room and returned to the sales floor to seek out something with a little more coverage. Plucking several dresses from the racks, mindful of the time, she returned to her cubicle and slipped off the white dress, replacing it with a floor length red, sequined gown that fastened around the neck, leaving arms and shoulders bare while featuring a daring slit up the front. This dress, too, hugged in all the right places and the neckline concealed the mark left by Remington's ardor. She nodded in satisfaction at the mirror then stepped into the hall to make use of the mirrors on each end of the dressing room space.

"Va-va-voom," Mildred called, taking in the young woman. "If you're trying to catch the Boss's attention that dress will do the job for sure." She slanted a sly look towards Laura. "Although given what I walked in on, it seems like the two of you have worked things out."

"In all honesty, we've not settled anything yet. We spent the bulk of the afternoon arguing over who did what to whom," Laura said dismissively, not wanting to give Mildred anything to sink her teeth into. The fact that it was, for the most part, truthful was only a bonus.

"Aw, honey, I was hoping by that lip lock the Boss had decided to come home."

"I imagine we'll hash things out after the ball. We'll have to, that is, if he plans on coming home with us tomorrow." She turned one last time to look at the back of the dress and gave a curt nod. "Well, I think this is the dress. What about you? Did you find something?"

"I did. A quick turn through the shoe department and I'll be good to go."

"Alright. I'll meet you there in about 5 minutes. I just want to grab a wrap really fast."

With Mildred's agreement, Laura traveled quickly through the store, selecting the mentioned wrap, but, on the spur of the moment, selected a cubic zirconia bracelet from jewelry, then a pair of white stockings, a white garter and matching lace panties from lingerie. The final touch was a pair of red stilettos picked up in the shoe department. It had been an expensive little trip, especially after she insisted on paying for Mildred's garb as well, but in light of the Earl's bank note, a rare splurge that could be justified. For the first time in recent memory, she left a department store smiling instead of seething over time wasted that could be better served doing other things.

And if the end result had the reaction she intended… Well, all the better.

* * *

"Laura," Remington called to her, tapping on the bathroom door. "If we don't depart in the next few minutes, we'll miss our reservation."

He returned to pacing the room nervously. After much consideration, he'd finally selected Simpson-on-the-Strand for them to dine at that evening, but when he'd called to make a reservation had been promptly informed by the maître de that the restaurant was solidly booked for the next two weeks. In the end, he'd found himself in the back seat of a taxi as it zipped through the London streets, heading to the restaurant in the hopes that he'd be able to grease a palm or two to make his plans for the evening a reality. As it had turned out, only his presence was necessary, as the maître de immediately recognized him as the American detective who had foiled the assassination attempt of a favored customer, the Earl of Claridge. With the seven o'clock reservation secured, another harrowing trip in the taxi landed him at his tailor. A couple of nips and tucks to accommodate the weight he'd lost the last months, and he departed with tux in hand. He'd arrived back at the hotel with a scant thirty minutes to shower, shave and dress.

Still, he'd been ready on time. His fair companion on the other hand? He strode back to the door and knocked again.

"Laura…" he drawled, impatiently.

This time the door swung open and what he saw before him left him swallowing hard, while making him give serious consideration to cancelling that coveted reservation. His eyes swept the length of her, noting her hair, clipped to a side with a diamond studded barrette emphasizing the elegant column of her neck; the shoulders left bare, a dazzling array of freckles on display; the dress clinging to her soft curves, emphasizing her miniscule waist; and, the slit at the front of the dress that provided a tantalizing glimpse of a pair of knock-out legs.

"You're positively stunning, Miss Holt," he complimented, voice gruff. She took a step to him and brushed her lips against his cheek before stepping back and taking him in.

"You're not so bad yourself, Mr. Steele," she returned, drawing an amused lift of his lips from him. _Far be it from Laura to ever let my ego get out of line,_ he laughed to himself.

Taking her wrap from her hands when she picked it up off her bed, he draped it over her shoulders but not before brushing his lips across the speckles of color that beckoned. His smile widened as he watched goosebumps cover an arm. With a hand to the small of her back, he guided her from the room.

* * *

Dinner at Simpson-on-the-Strand was a relaxed affair, at least as relaxed as it could be given the frequent brushes of their fingers, heated looks and a remarkably sensual display involving Laura, chocolate mousse and Remington's very active imagination. He was beyond thankful for the several minutes it took to receive his bill then the additional time that expired while his card was run. He needed the time to tamp down his body's response to her… for the evidence of that response to diminish if you will. When at last the bill was paid, he stood and easing her chair out from the table, held out his hand to help her up, before leading her from the restaurant with his hand laid softly on the small of her back.

He'd never been as grateful for a taxi being nearby as he then was. After handing her into the car, he followed behind, closing the door, wasting no time in giving the driver direction. He then turned smoldering eyes on her, to find her waiting expectantly for his request.

"Come here, Laura," he beckoned quietly, while reaching a hand out to run along the length of her neck, before his fingers rubbed against the back of it, sending shivers of pleasure down her spine.

Without hesitation, she moved into his arms. Tipping up her chin, her eyes locked with his, while his lips slowly descended to cover hers. Given his response to her in the restaurant, she had expected him to take passionate possession of her lips. The kiss was anything but. He pressed his lips softly to hers, letting them linger, before moving slightly away, only to return and gently tease her lips, making her ache for more. Pulling away, he looked down at her, waited for her eyes to connect with his, then moved a hand up to cup the side of her face, rubbing his thumb against her slightly parted lips. When her chin moved ever so slightly upwards again, he shifted his hand backwards to lay on her cheek as his lips settled over hers again, to brush against them, several times before he lightly swept his tongue along the top of her full, bottom lip.

"Delicious," he murmured, before claiming her bottom lip with both of his, giving it a soft tug then releasing it.

"The mousse?" she asked breathlessly, then brushed her lips against his.

Dragging his lips away from hers, his other hand joined his first on the opposite check, his fingers stroking them as he looked down at her.

"You," he said with soft sincerity, once her eyes found his. "The mousse was merely a sweet prelude to the appetizer."

His lips returned to hers, pressing faintly against them, before he slowly increased the pressure. With the slightest contact of his tongue she parted her lips and his tongue languidly moved into her mouth, touching, discovering, before he shifted his body slightly higher on the seat to better allow him a deeper, more thorough exploration. Electricity born of a deep yearning to be even closer to her coursed through his veins when she swept her tongue against his. She felt his body quake, briefly, imploring her to run her hands up his back to drag his body closer to hers. His thirst to taste her only increased exponentially with her response.

With a rumble of pleasure at her touch, his lips journeyed away from hers, to explore the soft, pliant skin of her neck, his mouth alternating between kissing it and carefully suckling the skin, savoring the taste of her. Laura tilted her head back to allow him more access, while her hand ran through the back of his hair. She gasped when his lips, then tongue, found that spot beneath her ear, sighing with pleasure as he carefully suckled her skin there, while his hand caressed her bare shoulder.

This time it was she who pulled away, her chest rising and falling rapidly in response to his assault on her senses. She looked up at him, then lifted a hand to run it along his jaw, before she pulled him towards her again. She feathered her lips across his before she allowed herself the enjoy the taste of his skin as her lips moved to his neck. Pausing, she shifted slightly away from him, waiting for his eyes to meet hers. Holding his gaze, her hands worked to loosen his tie, then opened the first four buttons of his shirt, before slipping her hand underneath the cloth and trailing her fingers across his chest, watching his eyes darken with the pleasure of her touch. He was unable to stop the quiet groan of rapture that the sensation of her hand against his skin wrung from him. This time, when his lips seized hers, it was in purely masculine need to claim her.

Grabbing her by the upper arms, he ripped his mouth away, and threw himself back against the seat, breaking all contact.

"Bloody hell," he panted. Seeing her look of dazed passion, he leaned down and touched his lips softly to with hers, briefly, then leaned back once more. His fingers began securing the buttons of his shirt, before moving to adjust his tie.

"We're quickly reaching the point, Miss Holt, where either we go back to the hotel and complete what we've started here or, absent that, we need to stop before we arrive at Café Paris in a such a state that everyone will know exactly how we've been passing time."

"And what state is that, Mr. Steele?" Laura asked with feigned nonchalance, while she tried to catch her breath as she smoothed her hands over hair to make sure it was still in place.

"The state in which you have been clearly been well kissed, while I…" he left the words unsaid, but shifted in his seat trying to find a more comfortable position.

"Enjoyed your dessert then?" she teased.

Remington turned his head to look at her, his eyes nearly indigo with the need her lips, her touch, had stirred within him.

"Appetizer, Laura, appetizer… a small taste of what it will be like when we indulge in all five courses," he told her quietly, as he picked up her hand and brought it to his lips. Tangling his fingers with hers, he lay their joined hands on the seat between them.

The celebration was in full bloom when they arrived. Descending the grand staircase, he noted the numerous, appreciative looks she received from young men below. Skimming her body with his eyes again, he recalled the visceral reaction he'd had when she'd appeared in the bathroom doorway only a couple hours before. Slipping his hand from her lower back to her waist, he leaned down and pressed his lips briefly against her neck.

"What was that for?" she asked curiously, even as a shimmer of pleasure skittered down her spine.

"Given you've caught the eye of any number of men," he told her, nodding towards the ballroom floor. "I felt the sudden need to… well, mark my territory, if you will?"

Her initial instinct was to remind him she belonged to no man, then with a shake of her head realized there was little point. She'd been his from the day they met, whether he knew it or not, whether it rankled her or not. And, at the same time, he'd not been the only one to take note of glances sent their way, although she had been purely focused on the several women who had taken one look at him and decided they wanted to make him their next meal. Allowing him to lay this subtle claim to her opened up a whole host of opportunities that had not existed before, including making it clear he was taken, off limits, as well.

"Well, in that case…" she smiled.

She stopped moving and stepped in close to him. He wrapped his arms automatically around her waist as her arms circled his neck. He looked down at her, a smiled tugging on his lips, and met her lips half-way for a brief, albeit it purposeful, kiss.

"What was that for?" he asked, echoing her early question while smiling down at her.

"What's sauce for the gander… You have some admirers of your own," she said smiling up at him while nodding her head back towards the dance floor. "I suddenly felt the need to mark some territory of my own."

"Why, Laura, I'm touched," he told her with sincerity. Truth be told, her actions had left him thoroughly flummoxed. It was the first time in his memory that she'd made it clear he was off limits to other women. Releasing her from his arms, he reached out for her hand, and lacing his fingers with hers, walked down the last three steps with her before starting leisurely across the ballroom floor.

"Why?" she asked, a bit baffled.

"I don't recall a time when you have ever made it apparent that we were… involved, let alone have made it known I was spoken for." She flashed him an amused smile.

"Mmmmm. I believe Felicia, Anna, Millicent, and Clarissa might say otherwise," she informed him with a rueful tone. A boyish smile lit his face, he was so absurdly pleased by that dollop of information.

"And here I've believed I was alone in warning others off," he commented.

"You have not," she accused, laughingly. He turned his head towards her and raised a brow.

"I quite assure you I have."

"When?"

"Often enough."

"I've never seen you…"

"That's because generally a look will suffice." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "The Earl and Lady Catherine straight on."

"Miss Holt, you look lovely this evening," the Earl greeted her, with a kiss on each cheek, before holding out a hand to Remington. "Mr. Steele, I'm happy you could join us."

"It's our pleasure, I assure you," Remington acknowledged.

The two couples exchanged small talk for a good while, before Remington excused them. Wrapping Laura's arm through his and laying her hand on his arm he led her to the dance floor. Turning, he took her in his arms. Her hand stroked his back before coming to rest on his shoulder. They were soon lost in the melody and each other. They danced in silent companionship, simply enjoying the closeness. Long minutes passed, before she lifted her head to look at him and found his eyes gazing down on her with exquisite tenderness. When he leaned down for his lips to glance against hers with the barest of touches her eyes briefly widened, before her hand slid behind his neck, giving him a soft tug. She tipped her chin up meeting his lips with her own. The kiss was as brief as it was potent.

"We probably shouldn't be doing that here," she said with a sigh when their lips parted.

"Ohhh. Why not?"

"People are watching…"she pointed out, glancing around the room. Remington glanced around the room and found a few people were indeed doing just that. He mulled it over for a moment, then gave a slight shrug of his shoulders.

"Let them find somebody of their own to kiss," he said mildly, leaning down to brush his lips against hers again, then once their lips separated tilted his head, his eyes catching and holding hers in silent question.

She whispered her fingers across the nape of his neck, as she lifted her chin and watched as his lips came down to join hers again. She shivered at the look of contentment that passed over his face, through his eyes. They continued to exchange small kisses until the music ended, before he took her by the hand and led her off the floor.

They had a wonderful evening together, speaking with their hosts, making new associations, spending time with Mildred and dancing some more. When Remington glanced at his watch and saw it was approaching midnight, he leaned down speak softly in her ear. He smiled as she unconsciously laid a hand on the back of his head as he did so.

"It's nearing midnight and if I recall, you mentioned you had some packing to do." She nodded somewhat reluctantly and they took their leave from the group with whom they were speaking. After bidding the Earl and Countess well wishes, they gathered up Mildred then their coats and caught a taxi back to the hotel. It was shortly before one in the morning before the trio arrived back at the hotel. Even Mildred, who normally bubbled over talking incessantly after such festivities, was content to stare out quietly at the passing scenery. Exhaustion from events of the past months had begun to settle over each of them. Laura dozed with her head against Remington's shoulder, his arm wrapped securely around her as he pondered the question of where they now stood.

One of the most difficult parts of loving the woman next to him was the blasted insecurity that seemed to perpetually hound him. It was the same feeling that had dogged him throughout his childhood when he'd been tossed about without regard. Was he wanted or would he be found wanting and sent on his way once more?

While they'd at last consummated their relationship, in a most decidedly heart-pounding manner, they'd spoken nothing of what was to happen next. He might infer by her intent to 'mark her territory' at the ball that she meant their relationship to continue forward. But that too was something one could not count on, those inferences. After all, he'd found himself baffled time and again by how she'd made it appear they were about to move forward only to find her suddenly veering left, taking their course backwards instead. Near the end of their first year together, after her fall from the beam at the Federal Reserve, she'd all but promised she'd be warming his sheets as soon as the case was a wrap. She had, in fact, arrived at his apartment that evening with seemingly exactly that in mind. Yet the moment his lips had trailed from his lips to her neck, she'd fled his apartment as thought the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels.

Where there were many more instance of her running hot only to turn colder than Helsinki in the winter, none so aptly exemplified this unpredictability more than the event that had landed them here in London. Since she'd at last set aside her Cannes edict, they'd once more lived in one another's pockets, detecting by day and dining and dancing by night. They'd even begun making an effort not to hide from one another when injured, confused or angered. Then, without warning, she'd rung the bell on them and called the TKO.

Before Mildred's arrival with the passport bearing his name – _his_ name, could it possibly be true that it was his to _keep_? – he'd attempted to broach the subject of what lay ahead with his intentionally light-hearted 'if this relationship is to continue' remark. She, of course, had deftly avoided the subject choosing, instead, to latch onto the bit about 'do you like London.' No mention had been made of a future over dinner, nor during the ball.

Was it possible making love with him was her manner of saying goodbye? The passport seemed to say otherwise, but again, that was inferred not stated. And if she intended for him to return with her to LA, was their newly established status as lovers to follow them home or did she intend to revert to old habits, relegating their time here to nothing more than a fond memory?

The woman, her silence, not knowing, was driving him bloody well insane. For someone that was forever going on about the need for discourse, she was resolutely closed mouth about her own feelings regarding their relationship. While he'd always said he enjoyed a good challenge, trying to win this woman's heart was akin to being a participant in the Roman gladiator games, tasked with defeating every foe before he could be declared the victor and even then that was up for debate.

His attention was drawn from his thoughts when Laura stirred in his arms, nuzzling closer to him. Contrary to what Remington believed, she was not, in fact, dozing but playing possum while doing some mental dissections of her own on their current state of affairs.

There wasn't a doubt in her mind that they would make love again as soon as they returned to the hotel and Mildred was safely tucked away in her room. It wouldn't matter that there was packing still to be done or that they'd need to be up in only a few short hours in order to depart for Heathrow on time. It seemed sensible Laura Holt had taken her leave for the evening. The only thing that mattered was the need to feel this man's body under her hands, her lips, to feel his mouth roaming her body, to feel his heated breath against her skin, to watch as he moved over her while she felt him moving inside of her. He'd stoked the embers that always lay dormant between them into a raging fire of need and desire with his glancing touches and heated looks throughout the evening. And damned if the man had not discovered that spot on her back when stroked in a certain way would leave her body quaking with unfulfilled lust. He'd used that new awareness throughout the evening, his darkened blue eyes registering her every reaction.

No, there was no question about what would happen tonight. It was all the nights after that were surrounded by question marks. Now that his curiosity had been satisfied, would he want to come home with her? And if so, as what? Would he wish to continue as they'd always been or would he be willing to commit to only her? Then there were his words earlier, when she'd accused him of continuing on his affairs throughout their association – 'I haven't'- and the clear wound her words had caused. Could it be possible that he had actually been already committed on at least some level to her? That thought made her queasy when considered in terms of Butch Beamis, Clay Platt, Bill Smith and William Westfield – the men she'd used to enflame his jealousy over just the last year. But his claim flew in the face of what Felicia had said to her only the night prior at the Earl's wedding reception.

* * *

" _ **Some people don't know when to pack it in. He's through with you, darling. He told me so right after we'd made love by a beautiful little lake."**_

* * *

She opened her eyes and looked up at him when he gave her upper arm a brisk rub. "We're here," he told her quietly, as he removed his arm from around her shoulder and opened the door. Offering her a hand out and then Mildred, he leaned in the open front passenger window and handed the driver several bills with a "Thanks, mate."

After escorting Mildred to her room and confirming they were to rendezvous in the lobby at six-thirty, Remington and Laura retired to his room. When he locked and closed the door behind them, she turned into his arms and tipped her chin up in anticipation of the kiss that fell immediately upon her lips. The kiss began slow and languorous, but within a minute the pent-up passion that had built across the evening, that had been between them for three years, erupted and the kiss turned voracious. When they tore their lips away from one another, his blood turned molten at the sultry smile lighting her eyes and playing across her lips. Stepping away from him, she tossed her wrap on the nearby chair then turned her back to him in a brazen hint that he should unzip her gown. He sucked in a deep breath when the dress slithered to the floor revealing that she wore only a scant pair of panties, a garter and stockings underneath, then hummed appreciatively when she turned to face him.

"It appears you're missing an undergarment, Laura," he observed as the back of his fingers traced a line from neck to waist. She gave him a jaunty little wag of her brows.

"One of the benefits of not being overly endowed is the ability to do without that particular undergarment when the mood strikes," she informed him, as stepped to him and slid his tuxedo jacket over his shoulders and off. The jacket landed on top of her wrap on the chair. She laughed huskily as she watched his Adam's apple bob when he swallowed hard.

"Are you telling me, Miss Holt, there are times you are running about the office… unencumbered?" The mere thought made his blood simmer. Her lips trailed along his jawline as she loosened his bow tie and tossed it aside.

"Often enough that if you were aware, you'd never get any work done." The thought made him hum, as did the small hands that efficiently rid him of his cummerbund and were now working to free the studs of his shirt. He explored the bare skin of her hips and waist with his fingertips, making her shift from foot-to-foot.

"Should I expect to be distracted by such thoughts in the future?" he probed as his hands wandered to stroke the small of her back and the curve of her bottom.

"I'd imagine if you were in LA, I'd have to remind you to keep your mind on business," she tapped danced around the question. Cuff links were removed and tucked into his pants pockets before she tugged his shirt out from under the waist band of his pants. Her lips and tongue traced a path from jaw to chest. A shiver traipsed across his skin, drawing a satisfied smile to her lips.

"Do you _want_ me to return to LA?" he prodded. His eyes closed and he tilted his head back when she shoved his shirt off, then lightly scraped her nails from chest to abdomen. His hands clenched her bottom then sought out the place where stockings ended and skin began, groaning in appreciation.

"I didn't fly six thousand miles simply to say hello." Her hands fumbled on his belt, the stroking of the back of her thighs making her twitch. "Do you want to come home?" she managed to ask, before her lips locked over his nipple, suckling at it. His body jerked at the contact.

"That depends on you," he answered, a hand sinking into her hair and urging her head upwards. Her lips moved away from his chest, only to be covered by his. He teased her lips with the tip of his tongue, then imitated what was to come next when she opened to him. A hand slipped under the waistband of her panties to stroke the bare skin of her bottom.

"Oh, God," she muttered in appreciation. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to concentrate on the conversation they were having. "How does it depend on me?" She whispered her fingers down the length of his back, drawing a deity based utterance of his own from him.

"That the territory we marked this evening remains as such," he provided. His lips trailed along her jaw, dropping kisses, then landed at that place under her ear, his rapt attention focused upon exploiting that erogenous zone, making her shiver. She shook her head, trying to decipher what point he was making.

"Are you saying you want a commitment?" Her hands unlatched the waistband of his pants and she slowly slid the zipper downwards, making frequent contact with his bulging erection.

"I am," he confirmed. A hand skimmed her side then cupped a breast, his thumb caressing her nipple. Instinctively, she arched into his hand.

"You mean just you and me?" She worked his pants over his hips as he toed off his shoes and socks before he kicked his pants away.

"Exclusively," he qualified. His hands found her waist and lifted her, his lips seeking out her neck as her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her legs his hips. He hummed with pleasure when he felt the damp silk of her panties against his abdomen and walked with her towards the bed. Turning, he fell backwards onto it with her in his arms. She sat up and straddled his waist before leaning forward to take the lobe of an ear in her mouth.

"I'm amenable to those terms," she whispered against his ear, before blowing on the wet lobe. Her laughter carried across the room at his appreciative groan. He neatly flipped them until they lay stretched against the length of the bed, his length atop her, his weight supported by his elbows. A pair of fingers brushed back her hair.

"Now, on to more important matters. I believe I promised you five courses…."

Remington's hand slapped at the alarm, before burrowing back into Laura's hair as her fingers brushed away the sheen of sweat that crossed his brow. His body continue to quiver in the wake of the earth shattering climaxes they'd shared only brief minutes before and his arms ached as he remained propped over her lithe little body which was doing some quivering of its own. A small hand stroked his back from shoulders to bum, and even in his exhausted state he leaned into her hand, driving him forward into her body, which as still joined with his. A soft moan escaped the lips under his. He rocked his body against hers as his lips continued seek hers out, his eyes locked with hers.

"Let it happen, babe," he whispered against her lips. It was the endearment and the memory of the last time he'd said it, the emotion in his voice that he couldn't disguise, as much as the motion of his body that left her fluttering softly around him again. Her hands clutched the smooth skin of his bottom, while his mouth swallowed her quiet moans. It was only when her body quaked for the last time that he brushed a kiss across her lips and disconnected their bodies, rolling away from her then pulling her into his side. She rested her head beneath his shoulder on his chest, her fingers absently tracing pretty little patterns through his hair. He closed his eyes in utter contentment as she pressed her lips to the side of his neck. Gathering her close, he bussed the top of her head, then opened his eyes as she rolled away from him and slipped out of bed.

"Care to join me in the shower?" she asked, holding out her hand.

"There's not much that would pry me from this bed at the moment, but that offer surely is one that would," he smiled, grasping her hand as he swung his long legs over the side of the bed and stood.

Forty-five minutes later, Laura stood looking around her room. Packing finished, she wore a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved, cotton shirt chosen for comfort during the long flight ahead. She laughed softly to herself. It was still a little bit surreal. She'd come to London to find the man she loved and bring him home. Not only had she succeeded in her endeavor, but somehow they were returning home committed to one another and with an entirely new phase of their relationship in its flagship days. She glanced over her shoulder as Remington entered the room carrying his one, lone suitcase. Setting it next to her luggage on the bed, he stepped behind her, wrapping her in his arms and pressing a kiss against her neck.

"Ready to go home, Miss Holt?" he asked, a smiling lighting his face as her fingers laced with his.

"Ready to go home, Mr. Steele," she nodded.

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. Opening the door, Laura stepped to the side to allow the bellman to enter and collect their luggage. After the bellman departed with their bags, she took a final look around the room before giving Remington an almost wistful glance. Seeing it, he stepped to her and wrapped her in a hug, leaning his forehead against hers.

"We'll always have London, Mr. Steele," she said with a sigh. A single finger lifted her chin until her eyes met his.

"That we will, Miss Holt, that we will," he agreed before touching his lips to hers. Releasing her, and placing his hand at the small of her back, he escorted her from the room.

(TBC)


	6. Chapter 6: Home

Chapter 6: Home

Good intentions often go awry and that was certainly the case with the talk Laura intended to have with Remington during their flight home regarding boundaries between business and personal. By the time they'd shared their traditional toast – "To going home" – and had squabbled playfully over a crossword puzzle, also par for the course, lack of sleep had caught up to both. When he suggested that they do away with the arm rest between them and stretch out – "just for a wink or two" – she was only too happy to take him up on the idea. Amid much laughter and numerous adjustments, they'd finally found a comfortable position in which to sleep: Remington stretched out at an angle across the seats, pillow tucked between his head and window, and Laura nuzzled into his side, between him and the seat. Once she'd managed to drape a blanket over them, they settled in to sleep.

Remington woke first, only a couple of hours before they were due to land in LA. Not wishing to disturb Laura, he plugged in a pair of headsets and attempted to watch the movie that was offered ( _Mask,_ Cher, Sam Elliot, Eric Stoltz, Universal Pictures, 1985). While the movie offered a mix of good acting and a compelling, dramatic storyline, it was not quite his cup of tea. As such, he found his mind wandering, and in the end wished it hadn't. By the time Laura's eyes blinked open when the overhead bells went off signifying approach to LAX, she could feel the tension in the body beneath hers. She sat up and turned to look at him as he straightened up in his own seat as well.

"Is something wrong?" she inquired. His eyes flicked to hers then away, a sure sign of distress.

"Not at all. Why would you ask?" he prevaricated, while flashing her a smile that never reached his eyes. In an instant, the insecurities that had plagued her for three years flared back to life.

"Have you changed your mind? Do you not want to go back to LA?" He noticed immediately the strain in her voice and the sudden change of what she'd been referring to as 'home' to 'LA'.

"I think I've been clear about wanting to return _home_ ," he answered her. "I've just realized I have no idea…" he trailed off, unable to ask what of his life remained there. She studied his face at length, then the reason for his tension came swift and strong.

"Your apartment is just as it was when you left. Mildred imposed on Fred, so you'll find the refrigerator and cupboards full." At his deep sigh, she continued. "The Auburn is parked in the garage at the Rossmore. I've taken it out a couple of times to make sure there are no problems from it sitting idle too long." His relief was palpable. She was tempted to ask about where the rest of his belongings were, because certainly they were not contained in his one, lone suitcase, but in the end found herself unwilling to open that potentially explosive discussion in a very public venue.

"You kept it all?" He was stunned by the news. _She kept it not even knowing if I'd return?_

"They weren't mine in the first place. You've been making the payments, they belong to you," she answered smoothly. "Mildred used your savings to cover your expenses." A thought gave her pause and she frowned. "How did you save that much? The way you spend, I would have laid odds that you didn't even _have_ a savings account." Bemused, he thought to himself, _ever the detective, eh, Miss Holt?_

"I haven't had cause to splurge for much of the last year," he answered vaguely. "I'll have to thank Mildred for watching my interests while I was gone."

"She missed you terribly, you know."

"Mmmm, it's nice to know, especially given how put out with me she is at the moment." He was tempted to ask why Laura had felt the need to divulge his past, the beginnings of their association, but much like her not long before, realized it was a discussion better set aside. With the ding of the seat belt sign ahead, he was given a moment before saying anything further. "Well, Miss Holt, here we are: my first time entering the country as Remington Steele," he noted lightly. Laura turned her head to look at him, a smile playing across her lips that only widened when he took her hand in his and linked their fingers together.

They kept quiet companionship until the wheels touched down on the runway, then even longer once the plane came to a standstill on the tarmac. Mildred gave them a queer look as she passed by, debarking. Only when the plane was nearly completely empty did they stand. Stepping into the aisle, Remington retrieved Laura's purse and overnight bag from the overhead bin, handing her the former and slinging the latter over his shoulder. Pulling her to him, he enveloped her in a hug.

"Thank you," he said simply, voice gruff. She didn't have to ask what he meant, understood instinctively that he meant for bringing him home. She pressed her lips against his neck and gave him a hard squeeze.

"You're welcome," she answered just as simply, her voice soft.

They stood in each other's embrace, both appreciating that his time on the lam was over, both wondering what would now lay ahead with them back in LA. They only broke their hold and debarked the plane when a straggling passenger left them no choice.

It was something that took some getting used to, leaving London at nine in the morning on Sunday, only to arrive in LA at a little after seven in the morning on the same day. After shaking off the various cricks and aches from ten hours of sitting in a single seat, the trio had gathered their luggage from baggage claim and then met Fred at passenger pick up.

Fred, as discreet as ever, never uttered a word, questioning where Mr. Steele had been the last months. The night he'd dropped Remington off at LAX, he'd never seen his boss so beaten down, hopeless. He had no idea what had happened to bring him to that state, and had often tried to piece together the parts of that odd, last night. A trip to the licensing bureau after which the boss had returned to the car with a determined, yet satisfied look on his face, as he hauled a little man he'd referred to as 'this bloody bastard' into the limo. A trip to the LAPD in which the little man was hauled out of the limo, never to return. A drive across town to the loft, followed by the Agency. A frantic drive to LAX with an anxious Remington directing him to 'not even stop for flashing lights in the rearview mirror'. A dejected boss climbing back into the limo, swiping at his face, providing a dull order that they needed to stop, briefly, at a convenience store where Remington emerged with an envelope before walking to the nearby mailbox. A stop at the apartment complex where the boss's friend resided. A trip to the Rossmore where he'd been instructed to return at the top of the hour. Whatever had happened, every one of Fred's instincts told him when he'd dropped Mr. Steele at LAX that evening carrying a single suitcase that he'd never again hear those two thumps on the roof of the limo, the boss's way of telling him he was free to leave.

In the months after, his services were seldom utilized by the Agency that employed him. On the rare occasion that Miss Holt did call for the limo, he'd watched her surreptitiously in the rearview mirror. After those trips, he'd be left… depressed. Gone was the woman that smiled far more than not; the light in her eyes had and faded then died; the quick wit displayed in her repartees with Mr. Steele never had call to be displayed. Back was the serious, all-business Miss Holt, the withdrawn Miss Holt… the woman that wore her loneliness like a cloak, although she didn't realize it. Far worse, the last time he'd picked her up from a business luncheon, he would have bet a month's pay that she'd been crying, given her swollen, red eyes.

Everything had changed, for the better, in the three years since 'Mr. Steele' had arrived. Oh, Fred knew the man that he provided almost exclusive driving services to was not 'Remington Steele.' He'd been privy to it all in that car of his. The dark hair stranger first referred to as 'Mr. Pearson' then was suddenly the absentee 'Mr. Steele.' He'd watched through that rearview mirror of his as 'Mr. Steele' teased, irritated, taunted, challenged and exchanged verbal slings with Miss Holt. Had watched both of them change across the years, he settling down, she coming alive. He was fairly certain he was the first person Mr. Steele had admitted in a roundabout way that he'd fallen hard for Miss Holt.

* * *

" _ **Love must truly be an enigma, Fred."**_

" _ **Oh, how's that, sir?"**_

" _ **Because I can't tell if I'm winning or losing."**_

* * *

He'd watched the relationship between them blossom and grow over the years. He couldn't help but see they'd always, somehow, managed to sit pressed up next to one another, even when alone on that big back seat. He'd watched them exchange heated looks and even hotter kisses. He'd seen the friendship evolve that both relied on heavily.

Whatever had happened to make Mr. Steele leave as he had, must have been big. But given the glances they'd exchanged on the way out of the airport doors, it seemed to be, for the most part, resolved, although they were still both a bit nervous. When Ms. Krebs had called to request that he stock Mr. Steele's kitchen, he'd only been too happy to, taking it as the signal it was Mr. Steele was returning home. Nevertheless, it wasn't until he saw the man himself emerge through those doors that he believed things would finally return to normal. He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face, as Remington put down the suitcases he was carrying to shake Fred's hand.

"Good to see you again, mate," Remington greeted him.

"Yourself as well, sir. Things haven't been the same without you." The words earned Fred a pat on their clasped hands and a brilliant smile.

"We'll be dropping Ms. Krebs off first," Remington directed while waiting for the ladies to get in the car.

"Yes, sir. And then Miss Holt's?" Remington glanced towards the car at the woman in question.

"We'll let her make that decision once we've dropped Ms. Krebs."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Steele."

With that, Remington climbed into the back seat, taking his place chastely beside Laura, lest they earn any further curious glances from Mildred. Conversation on the way to Mildred's centered around the ball the evening before and the number of members from the royal peerage Mildred had met. Only once Mildred had departed, with Fred's assistance with her bags, and they were underway again did Fred broach what was to be his next stop.

"Miss Holt's loft next, Mr. Steele?" Remington glanced at Laura who appeared undecided.

"While I understand it's only morning here in LA, we're fast approaching the dinner hour London time. If you'd like, I can make us a bite to eat, then drop you 'round the loft after." She nodded slowly at him.

"I _am_ hungry. I think we slept right through whatever meal was offered."

"The Rossmore, Fred," Remington directed.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Steele," Fred answered. He couldn't help but smile as he watched the boss tug Miss Holt closer, so they were sitting hip-to-hip, a promising sign whatever had sent Mr. Steele out-of-country had been rectified. At least for the most part, based on the silence in the back seat and the mounting tension as they grew nearer the Rossmore.

Laura and Remington stepped from the limo once it came to a stop in front of the Rossmore. Rubbing his chin, he studied the building before him. _Home, at least as close any place has ever come to it,_ he thought to himself. He'd thought he'd be more excited, less nervous than he was. But, apartment 5B was where Laura had ended them four months earlier, where he'd returned after he'd watched her board a plane. The last time he'd been in the flat, the four walls had been filled with heartbreak, anger and something akin to devastation. The superstitious side of himself wondered if it was there waiting for him right now. With a shake of his head, he shrugged off the thought as so much rubbish and slung her overnight bag over his shoulder, then picked up his suitcase and hers, paying no heed to his still tender abdomen. Being a gentleman had been well-hammered into him by Daniel, and it wasn't a habit he intended to break now.

"Are you okay?" she asked as the elevator ascended towards the fifth floor. He flashed her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Of course. Just wondering how the old place faired in my absence," he prevaricated as the elevator doors slid open.

At his door, Laura slipped her keychain from her purse. Removing his key from her ring, where it had remained since that first night when she'd found him gone, she handed it to him.

"Welcome home, Mr. Steele," she told him, forcing a smile across her lips. She too had her hesitations about passing over that threshold.

They entered the flat, both determined to appear to the other as though all were normal. For his part, Remington eyed the space, noting that all was as he'd left it. This was not necessarily a surprise as except for his beloved movie posters, he'd changed little over the years. The fichus by the door appeared thirsty, a light layer of dust coated the surface of the tables – actually a much finer layer than he expected. He proceeded to the bedroom with their luggage, she following silently behind. Setting her bags by the door just inside the room, he dropped his on the bed. When he turned, the stricken look on Laura's face, her posture, drew him up short. His hopes that they'd be able to get a decent meal on their stomachs before confronting the events that had started here dissolved instantaneously.

"What is it, Laura?" She pressed her fingertips to her brows, staring at the closet. She sighed, shook her head and adverted her face. "Lau-ra?" he drew out her name in that way of his, the one she'd never been able to deny.

"Where is everything?" she asked, looking up, sweeping her hand across the room. "If you were coming back, why take it all?" Her face crumpled for but a split second, before the stoic mask she wore so often appeared. "Why did you leave behind everything I'd ever given you?" His hand scrubbed at the back of his neck then crossed the room to pick up the phone.

"Monroe, it's Mick… Mmmm, yes, I've settled in… my flat here in LA… an hour?... Sounds perfect, mate, I'll see them then." Hanging up the phone, he turned to face her. "Would you mind," he held a hand towards the bedroom door, "if we had this conversation while I prepare us something to eat?"

In answer, she stood and exited the room. No, she didn't mind. Of all the rooms in the apartment, it was the bedroom that contained her personal ghosts. Odd, since it was there that she'd found sanctuary many nights during his absence. But then, she'd been focused on the scent of him that still lingered on pillows and sheets; that he'd once slept there nightly was enough to make feel his presence. Now that he was here, home, the only thing she'd felt when she'd entered the bedroom was the acute loss that had pummeled her heart the night he left.

In the kitchen, Laura parked herself on the barstool tucked into the corner of the room, earning several glances from him as he considered the contents of the refrigerator. "Shall we keep it simple?"

"The meal or the conversation?" she retorted, with an edge to her voice that surprised even herself. His brow furrowed and he tugged at an ear in response.

"Uh, the former, I believe."

"Simple is fine."

With another glance her way, he retrieved bayberry wheat bread, turkey, Havarti cheese, a tomato, lettuce, along with a honeydew melon he found within the refrigerator's confines. After removing two plates from the cabinet, he rocked back on his heels, shoving his hands in his pockets and considering her at length. Remington's instincts were screaming at him that the conversation was best had with Laura in close proximity. With a mental nod to himself, he crossed the kitchen and took her hand, tugging her towards the counter.

"Let's make this as normal as possible, eh?" Her eyes fell on his face, scrutinizing him, seeing he was as tense as her.

"Alright," she agreed on a breath, hitching herself up onto the island to sit. Gathering up a knife and cutting board, he returned to the island.

"The long and short of it is that when I left I didn't believe I'd be returning." She averted her head, giving it a sharp nod as she wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed them.

"Then why the story in London? That you were searching for a name to prove your commitment?"

"Laura, you took me to my knees that evening – out there…" he waved the knife towards the living room, "…the airport." With his left hand, he rubbed at his face, taking a deep breath before continuing. "As far as I knew, there was nothing left for me here. I spent the better part of two months being alternately furious with you or trying to forget you. By the time I'd reached Nice, I'd come to realize that staying away was not an option and the only choice I really had was to try to find something that would make you understand that this…" he waved the hand he was slicing tomatoes with back and forth between them, "…you and I, is very real to me."

"You could have come home. That would have been a start," she retorted.

"To what, Laura?" he asked, voice rising in frustration. "Need I remind you of your words that evening? That I'd watched you leave me for another man?" He lay the knife down, began to pace. "I'd stayed for three years, yet that hadn't been enough for you to let me in. You've always been so worried about turning around and finding me gone one day…" He stopped and took a deep breath while swiping a hand through his hair. With concerted effort he stepped to the sink, washed off his hands then returned to assembling their sandwiches. "You needed something substantial to hold onto, something to believe in. Finding my name, giving it to you, was all I had."

"Your _word_ would have been enough," she countered quietly. Again, he stopped what he was doing, this time to stand between her legs and lean with both hands against the counter.

"Would it have been?" He shook his head sadly. "I don't believe it would. The one thing you've never given me is your trust, not wholly. Due, in great part, to the mistakes I've made, I'll grant you that. But you wouldn't have taken my word on it, not even when the proof was right before you." She shook her head, not understanding.

"What proof?"

"I'd stayed, Laura. For three years, I'd stayed when I never had anywhere else before. I'd told you as much two years before while we were in Acapulco!"

* * *

 _ **"How long do I have to keep on proving myself to you? I mean, why is it so important what I was? I mean, we've been together for what could be called a season. Doesn't that count for anything?"**_

 _ **"Seasons come and go and when they're over, sometime you can hardly remember them."**_

 _ **"Dammit, Laura, I care for you." Several quick strides and he'd crossed the room, to pull her into his arms, kissing her long and deep. At first, she responded then pulled away, almost desperately.**_

 ** _"Don't!"_**

 ** _"Why not?"_**

 ** _"You confuse me. It confuses me. It's what frightens me the most about having more than a working relationship with you! Every time we're not on a case, not tending strictly to business, this same old confusion sets in."_**

 ** _"You think it's any different for me? I mean, I've never spent this much time in one place in my entire life-And it's not only because I enjoy playing detective. I mean, sometimes- sometimes I look at myself and I say, 'what's happened to you, old sport? I mean, you've become positively domesticated!'_** "

* * *

She had to mentally shake free of the memory and only then realized Remington had moved away to stalk the length of the room again.

"Bloody hell, even Daniel figured it out within moments of meeting you!" At that, Laura let go of a sarcastic laugh and slipped off the counter to do a little pacing of her own at that remark.

"Daniel?! Daniel has made it perfectly clear that you were only sticking around until your curiosity was satisfied!"

* * *

" _ **Miss Holt, Harry is one of a kind. A true… artist. The only reason he hasn't painted himself out of your life is that the two of you have yet to experience the… umm… ultimate moment."**_

* * *

"The man's a con artist, Laura. He found your weakness," he laughed sardonically and gesticulated with his hands, " - _not_ that it's all that well hidden in the first place- and exploited it. He'd figured out within moments of first meeting you that you were the reason I was walking away from the life. _Of course_ he was going to use whatever weakness of yours he found to try to get you to fold your hand!" She rubbed at her brows with her fingertips.

"And Felicia?" The question threw him off balance, and he turned to settled a confused look at her.

"What about Felicia?"

"She certainly made it clear in London that you were fed up with your life here. I believe it was along the lines of…"

* * *

" _ **Some people don't know when to pack it in. He's through with you, darling. He told me so right after we'd made love by a beautiful little lake."**_

* * *

"Rubbish, the whole of it," he protested, irritably, his fingers twitching with the desire to put them around Felicia's lovely neck and wring the truth out of her. Pointless as she wasn't there, but desired nonetheless.

"Then why would she—" He shook his head at her, stunned by how gullible she could be when people plucked at her vulnerabilities.

" _Jealousy, Lau-ra_. She offered and I made it perfectly clear that I was uninterested—"

* * *

 _ **"I must admit, although not for publication, that it's all been quite empty without you, Michael… all rather shabby, no matter how sumptuous the setting or generous the partner. I should never have let you go. I should have clung to you. I should have fought for you. Will you give me that opportunity now?"**_

 _ **"I'm flattered."**_

 _ **"But uninterested."**_

 _ **"Let's just say-previously committed."**_

* * *

"You said that?" she asked, stunned.

"The _only thing_ on my mind while I was in the clutches of Armstrong and his men was whether _you'd_ made it out unharmed." He shook his head resignedly. "I haven't been with Felicia since _long_ before you and I met, although she has, on more than one occasion, made you believe otherwise. Truth of the matter is you've managed to do what no other woman before you have done, no matter how they'd tried."

"Drawn a commitment from you?"

"Made it impossible for me to want anyone but you," he answered truthfully, his weariness threading his words. Leaning his back against the corner of the counter, he ran a hand through his hair before resting it over his mouth and averting his head. His suddenly solemn mood only heightened her own frazzled nerves and she remembered the vow she'd made to herself the first time they'd made love.

" _Were you telling me the truth_?" Her voice was strained when she forced the words past her lips. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

"Laura, I haven't been with anyone since Creighton Phillips and Sheila Tapplinger passed through our lives." He laughed quietly, almost despondently. "I vowed to myself in Portofino that I'd put you out of my mind, once and for all. What better way than to have a 'fling' or two of my own, eh? I must've taken nearly two dozen women out, only to send them home quite by themselves night after night." He sighed heavily. " _Despite_ the fact I believed you'd taken Westfield into your bed, you were still the only woman I wanted. Even more so, each time I so much as _kissed_ a one of them, I felt like I was betraying _you_." She nodded thoughtfully while rubbing her arms.

"I can understand that," she mulled thoughtfully. Returning to the island, he continued to make the sandwiches while looking at her with a raised brow.

"Oh?"

She considered him carefully, wondering how much she should say. _It's only fair to share some truths of my own,_ she conceded in her mind.

"I almost can't remember a time that I didn't want you," she began quietly, slowly pacing the floor on the opposite island of him, noting the hand applying tarragon to the sandwiches had stilled. "I'd ended us before getting on that plane, but the second I sat down, I knew two things absolutely: First, that the only man I wanted to go _anywhere_ with was you; and, second: just sitting in that seat, I knew, whether or not we'd figured out a way to make this work, the only choice to be made was _you_. So, I got off that plane and came here, _to you_. Only you were gone." She said the last line forlornly, the memory of that night making her feel just as lost and alone as she had when she'd discovered him gone.

"I knew in my heart that you'd left not only LA, but the country. Still, for two nights I went to everywhere I could ever recall us going or you having mentioned, hoping you'd suddenly be there." Pinching the bridge of her nose, she lifted her face towards the ceiling, blinking rapidly and taking several deep breaths until she regained control of her emotions. "On the third night that you were gone, I came here, searched the apartment hoping to find anything that would tell me where you'd gone. I slept here that night, then the next morning after letting Mildred know I wouldn't be in, I searched again." Dropping her hand, she looked at him, laughed softly. "I even briefly considered trying to find a way to contact Daniel to see if he knew where you'd gone… but of course I didn't."

"I'm surprised Mildred didn't quit. I was either working myself, and her by extension, into the ground or avoiding the office outright, depending on the day." She paused, as a thought suddenly occurred to her. "Did you call? Did you call late one night?" He finished slicing the sandwiches in two and added slices of melon to them, then nodded towards the dining room table without answering.

"Shall we?" Laura frowned at him but followed him to the table. Only once they were seated did Remington answer.

"I did."

"Why? Why would you call the agency that late at night? Why wouldn't you speak?" He took a bite of his sandwich, and assessed how to respond, if to respond at all.

"I needed to hear your voice," he provided, elaborating no further.

"The answering machine," she deduced. He merely hummed his acknowledgment. "I asked you to come home." He sighed, the sandwich pausing halfway to his mouth.

"It wasn't an option," he answered succinctly.

"It wasn't _an option_?" She shoved away from the table, stood to pace. "Do you have any idea what that phone call did _to me_?" She was torn, hovering somewhere between anger, tears and hysteria. "Every night for a week, I left the office when Mildred expected me to, waited until she left, then went back, staying until late at night, waiting for the phone to ring! Had you called because you were in trouble, needed help and wouldn't ask? Were you in jail somewhere?" Her voice cracked. " _Were you hurt_?" She took a slow, calming breath. " _Eleven days, Mr. Steele_! For eleven days I could only worry, wonder, jump when the phone rang during the day, wondering if this was going to be the call telling me that you'd been locked away somewhere… killed. Fifty-four more days before you landed in London. Fifty-four more days of not knowing, of avoiding the Agency, often sleeping here," she swept her arm towards his room.

"What would you have me do, Laura?" he asked now, tossing his napkin on the table and pushing to his feet. "Come home, partner with you and watch as you went home to another man each evening? I didn't have _that_ in _me_! Even once I realized you wouldn't have done it, wouldn't have given yourself to him so easily, I had nothing more to offer you than when I left! It wasn't enough, _had never been enough_. I needed to find my name, to give it to you, to prove to you, I hoped, that _this_ is where I _wanted_ to be… that _you_ were _all_ _I wanted_. Even now, I have to wonder how long until you begin to question that again… start shoving me away… how long until you put up those damned walls again!" She whirled to face him.

"Then promise me!" she nearly yelled at him. After another deep breath, calming sufficiently, she said much more quietly, "Promise me you'll stay." He crossed the room in four swift strides and cupped her face in his hands, waited until her eyes met his.

"I'm not going anywhere, Laura. I'm exactly where I wish to be, _with who_ I wish to be," he vowed, then leaned down and covered her mouth with his, showing her with his kiss what he couldn't say with words. He felt the shudder of released tension before she stepped fully into him, clutched at his shoulders drawing him closer.

Both of their heads turned to stare at the door when the bell sounded.

"Monroe's men more than likely. Go eat your lunch. Don't think I haven't noticed the weight you've lost these last months," he noted, pressing a brief kiss against her lips again before moving to answer the door.

"I'm not alone in that, Mr. Steele," she pointed out, although she did return to the dining room.

Remington directed Monroe's veritable army of men as they entered the door, most moving towards the bedroom while a couple veered towards the kitchen, nodding their hellos to Laura as they passed. Emptying his wallet, Remington discretely slipped the man-in-charge a generous tip, while asking that he pass on a message to Monroe that he'd be in touch later in the week. Once all had departed he looked from bedroom to kitchen, trying to decide where to start. Placing the last slice of melon in her mouth, clearing her plate, Laura stood.

"You take the bedroom, I'll unpack the kitchen," she suggested. He looked at her, undecided. "As much as I've helped clean up after meals, I know where and how you like everything put away. I wouldn't even know where to begin with your clothes."

"You don't have to do this, Laura." He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels.

"I know I don't have to do it… I offered. We could have everything unpacked and put away within the hour."

"If you're sure…"

"I am. Now move it, buster." With a grin cast in her direction, he relinquished control of unpacking his kitchen to her, while he set about putting his clothing in order.

Laura's estimate on how long it would take was slightly off. A little more than an hour and a half later, his belongings were all unpacked and wardrobe and storage boxes were broken down and hauled down to the furnace room. They collapsed, together, on the couch in satisfaction.

"Looks like all's back to the way it was before," he commented. She nodded thoughtfully, picking up his hand and using her fingers to toy with the palm, smiling as she watching his fingers flex involuntarily.

"Not everything," she reminded him, looking up at him with warm brown eyes. The smile of unadulterated happiness that lit his face and eyes left her heart tap dancing in her chest.

"No, not everything," he agreed, bussing her on the forehead. Wrapping his hand around the hand holding his, he lifted it to his mouth and trailed his lips across her knuckles. "I seem to recall promising to take a certain young lady home after we'd enjoyed a meal together. Would you like to go home or delay a while longer?" Reclaiming his hand, she continued to trace pretty patterns in his palm.

"Delay, I think. I imagine we can find a movie to watch on a Sunday afternoon, don't you?"

"I believe we can," he agreed, glancing at his watch and seeing it was only a couple minutes after one.

Patting her on the leg, she eased away from him, waiting while he retrieved the remote from where it rested on top of his television. Returning to his seat, he turned on the television, moving through the channels until he found a showing of _Roman Holiday_ (Gregory Peck, Audrey Hepburn, Paramount, 1953) that had only started a few minutes before. Remington raised a questioning brow towards Laura, who nodded her approval. Setting the remote on the arm of the table, he stood again and went to his bedroom, returning with a pillow and blanket.

"Shall we?" he asked, indicating with his eyes the length of the couch. Her eyes lit up.

"Sounds perfect."

Standing, she waited until he stretched out on his side across the length of the couch, then joined him, pillowing her head on his arm and grasping the hand attached to the arm he slid around her waist. She burrowed herself a little further into his body, enjoying the familiar warmth. _How many afternoons and evenings over the years have we done exactly this?_ she wondered to herself.

The first time they'd done exactly this, she'd been surprised how…content… he'd seemed to simply spend the night in such a manner: a little wine, _Casablanca_ (Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman, Warner Bros., 1942) showing on the small screen, and enjoying one another's company. For a man who'd spent a decade traveling through some of the most romantic cities of the world, who had found his enjoyment on the Riviera, who had gambled in some of the most elite casinos in the world, escorting a different woman nearly every evening, to so readily agree to, but enjoy, such a simple evening? It had taken her a long time to understand that as exciting as is previous life had been, Remington was man who craved intimacy as much as a thirsty man craved water.

Frankly, it was one of the many contradictions that had added to her confusion about him over the years. For a man who'd avoided commitment like the "proverbial plague" the better part of his life, he seemed to long for the intimacy that accompanied just that. The way he'd guide her with his hand at the small of her back, the way he was drawn to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear or over her shoulder… Speaking of which, the very man was toying with a strand of her hair even as she was lost in her thoughts about precisely that. The slight tug was a clear indication he was trying to garner her attention. She looked back over her shoulder at him.

"As lovely as Audrey Hepburn is, I sincerely hope you never do as she has just done," he murmured close to her ear. She blinked hard to refocus on the here and now. Glancing at the movie playing, she recognized immediately the scene in which Princess Anne had her long locks shorn off to above the shoulder.

"Hmmmm. I don't think you have much to worry about there. Even during my most 'tomboy' of stages, I've worn my hair long. The length gives me a great deal of flexibility on how I wear it from day-to-day." She settled in to watch the movie again.

Not too much later, Remington barked out a short laugh, drawing Laura to look at him again.

"What?"

"Does this scene remind you of anything?" She turned her attention back to the movie watching as Anne and Joe battled for control of the scooter they were on, the resultant haphazard driving reaping havoc on the streets of Rome.

"No, should it?"

"You and I… a golf cart… in pursuit of the Royal Lavulite?" She snickered quietly.

"If you had allowed me to drive, _we_ wouldn't have wrecked."

"That wreck was responsible for catching Hunter red-handed," he reminded her.

"It just goes to show, Mr. Steele, that even on our worst of days, we make one hell of a team," she smiled over her shoulder at him. His hand grasped her waist, urging her to her back. Leaning his upper body over her, he ran a single finger along her jaw.

"That we do, Miss Holt… in the boardroom _and_ out of it," he agreed solemnly as his finger slipped beneath her chin, and tipping it up, he fastened his lips over hers. He kissed her long and leisurely, only deepening the kiss when her hand slid into his hair, her fingers massaging his scalp.

"Speaking of boardroom…" she murmured against his lips. Leaning his head back, he looked at her questioningly. Wiggling free of his embrace, she pushed herself up to sit, then waited as he did the same, the whole time looking at her with a combination of confusion and concern. "We need to establish some boundaries between work and pleasure." He suppressed the desire to groan aloud.

"What do you have in mind?" he asked instead.

"There will be no sex in the office," she provided ticking off the first point on her fingers. "No overnights during the work week. No carrying on while on stakeouts or when conducting Agency matters that require us to travel. When handling Agency business, we present a purely _professional_ partnership." He nodded thoughtfully.

"And are you willing to make a concession of your own?" She cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowing.

"Such as?"

"Time. Time for us to explore our… personal… relationship. No interruptions. Phone off the hook, doors left unanswered."

"Time," she pursed her lips and lifted to her eyes to the ceiling, pondering. Long seconds elapsed before she looked at him and spoke again. "This," she waved her hand between the two of them, "means a great deal to me. While I can't promise there won't be days where business must take precedence over our personal lives, we won't ever know where this is going unless we stop putting our… personal relationship… on the backburner, as we've always done." She nodded her head. "Other than weekends, Agency business not withstanding, I can't promise you every evening or even stipulate a day. What I can promise is that I'll prioritize our personal life whenever I can." The smile that lit his face was well worth the concession.

"When do you plan to reopen the Agency doors?" he inquired.

"Tuesday. I think we'll all need tomorrow to shake off the jet lag." He reached out to tangle a hand in her hair, cupping the back of her head and drawing her near. His lips hovered bare millimeters from hers.

"Then stay," he requested, touching his lips to hers. "Stay with me tonight." His mouth tugged gently on her bottom lip. "I want to fall asleep with you in my arms…" he whispered next to her ear "… to wake with you beside me." His lips captured hers, teasing, tempting, promising what the night ahead would hold. That he'd asked instead of assumed infused her with a warm glow. So many worries, so many concerns in the past about what would happen once they crossed that line – did they never exist in the first place?

"I was hoping you'd ask," she answered quietly against his lips, while drawing her fingers through his hair and pressing him closer. Ending the kiss, he drew slightly back, considered the embers of passion burning in her eyes, her swollen lips, shortened breaths and the flush that pinkened her skin. Nodding mentally, he stood and held out his hand, sweeping her up into his arms when she gained her feet.

"But, Mr. Steele," she said coyly, pressing her lips against his neck "it's barely three o'clock in afternoon." Her lips lifted in a smile against his skin as she felt the shiver course through him.

"But _we_ are on London time," he countered, as he released her legs when they neared his bed and she slid down his body to stand, arms wrapped around his neck, "which means it is ten in the evening." Her fingers toyed with the tips of his hair at the back of his neck.

"Ah, I see. Are you suggesting it's time for bed then?" she teased. Turning he sat on the edge of the bed, tugging on her hips until she stood between his legs. A hand stroked up her arm and over a shoulder, burying itself in her hair, before urging her to lower her head so their lips could meet again.

"That I am, Miss Holt, that I am," he confirmed, his breath whispering across her lips. Her lips lifted in a smile before she pressed her hands against his shoulders, lowering him towards the bed. With a nifty little move he flipped them so he lay lengthwise across the bed and she straddled his lap. A laugh of surprise slipped past her lips before she leaned down to kiss him.

Remington and Laura made love throughout the afternoon and evening, attempting to slake their thirst after three years of dancing around one another. Sometimes they made love amid much laughter, as they teased and attempted to one-up each other, while at other times they devoted themselves to unlocking more secrets of the other's body. The napped in short spurts, their only real break in lovemaking occurring in the early evening as they sat upon the bed, nourishing their bodies with Chinese delivery. Their last round of lovemaking in the early hours of the next morning left them dazed and lost in the emotions that had been conveyed by soft touches of lips, trailing fingers seeking only to memorize the skin beneath them and the exchange of soft sighs that seemed to indicate they were finally where they were meant to always be.

Several times throughout their escapades, Remington had nearly uttered those three words that had terrified him for nearly his entire life. Yet, when he would draw his lips away from Laura's and look into her lovely brown eyes, he could see that she understood what was between them was about far more than a romp in the sack. While his tongue might be still unable to utter the words, his touch, the way he'd murmur her name with a tinge of disbelief that she was finally his and his alone, made her feel as those three words had been spoken aloud.

For her part, Laura was as tongue tied as he. As much as she craved to hear those words pass his lips, she was too afraid to be the first to speak them herself. So, she tried to convey what he meant to her through the touch of her lips against his neck, the way her fingers trekked reverently through the sleek hair of his chest and the silken strands of the hair on his head, and how her hands would whisper softly down his back. She knew by the wonderment she saw in his eyes he understood though he still questioned if her heart was his to keep.

When their bodies parted for the final time, they lay facing each other, unable to stop their hands from gliding softly over arms, cheeks, necks, or to prevent their fingers from tangling in hair. Only when he pulled her to him, easing a leg between hers and tucking her head against his chest while his arms wrapped around her as though he would never let go did they sleep.

When they woke the next morning, they found they'd shifted as they'd slept, his body now spooned firmly around hers and their joined hands tucked up in the valley of her breasts. Bodies with aching muscles and tender skin were unable to take them where they wished to go, so they contented themselves with simply enjoying the warmth generated by the contact of their bodies, as their fingers tangled and untangled then tangled again. For now, being there, together, was enough.

It was a new beginning…

* * *

 _ **A/N: Alright, faithful readers, I am requesting your input here. There has not been much feedback on this story, so I am not sure how it is being received: Do you wish to see more of these Alternative Universe Season 4 stories? Or shall I focus my attentions solely on the Canon series? Your feedback, as always, is much appreciated. ~RS**_


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